Where Three Rivers Meet
by ArizonaRanger
Summary: Three wastelanders stand against all the Mojave can throw at them. And mysterious forces bring new trouble to the desolate lands. Chapter 13 is now up!
1. The Red Sun Rises

**Chapter 1: The Red Sun Rises**

**July 1st 2283**

The sun rose slowly over the mountains surrounding the Big Mountain Complex. Through the constant haze of a nuclear winter, not yet ready to relinquish its iron grip on the Mojave, the sun's rays were tinged with an offsetting vermillion tinge that did nothing to mask the death and violence that went on in the lands bathed by their light. But here, in the Big MT, all was quiet. Soon the Think Tank would start up their usual parade of scientific experiments that were as destructive and careless as they were pointless. And shortly after the cunning Dr. Mobius would implement some Mentat fueled plan to keep the bodiless brains at bay, and more importantly, contained.

However to the man standing on the ledge of the Little Yangtze guard tower, far from either the Klein led pompous parade or Mobius and his mechanical arachnid army, none of these things mattered. The old man stared out over the landscape that lay sprawled out from his perch. Once there had been a mountain here, but now only piping connecting abandoned laboratories, surprisingly well maintained railroad tracks and of course large craters left by various Think Tank experiments remained. As he scanned the hillside, his eyes passing from one ruined building to the next, he contemplated his situation.

Soon, though however insane as he might be, Mobius would locate him if only through sheer luck and resources. And while he had no doubt he could escape from the crazed robot Elijah saw no point to it. So he decided that it was time to move on. He had found the frequency he needed; now all he had left to do was follow the trail.

With a sigh he turned and headed back into the guard house, setting his laser riffle by the door just in case he needed to make a quick getaway latter. He stared around the small room for a bit before finally getting to work on his task. Quickly he grabbed his laser pistol as well as an old Pipboy he'd found on the arm of a dead lobotomite. Among the other things included in his hasty pack up were 20 or so metallic rings with a blinking light and clasp on each one. He stowed away these mysterious objects into his pack along with a few hundred microfusion cells and a Laser RCW. Satisfied that he was ready he turned to leave, still not sure what it was that had prompted this rushed departure, chalk it up to cabin fever he told himself and opened the door to the Big Empty.

After taking one step out onto the ledge Elijah knew he was not suffering from cabin fever-but was a benefactor of tremendous self-protective instincts. Approaching from the East was a group of no less than Robo-Scorpions. Dr. Mobius' voice boomed across the rubble strewn planes in a Psycho induced fury.

"I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, AND IF YOU DO NOT SURRENDER MY SCORPIONS WILL TEAR YOU APART!" His voice came blasting from the pre-war prison camp's speakers. Elijah considered staying and holding his ground, but he knew Mobius had a seemingly endless supply of those mechanical arachnids, and even his combat experience could only go so far. So his mind set upon fleeing the scene he reached into his duffel bag and procured a Pulse Grenade, as a sort of going away gift for his robot friends.

But before he could toss the grenade a flash of light caught his eye from a nearby building to North of the camp and he instinctively threw himself to the ground. His instincts had saved him twice now today and the bullet meant for his head slammed into the cliffs behind the tower instead. However the still active grenade still lay beside him and it detonated with a brilliant burst of electricity.

Grounded as he was the blast didn't harm him, but it had upset something inside the Guard house, as evidenced by the loud beeping of a warning horn coming from inside. Intrigued but not foolish the old man quickly climbed down the tower and ran away from both the Robots chasing him and the retribution that would follow him everywhere he went.

* * *

><p>Half a mile beneath this skirmish was a small room. This room was not on any blue-prints and would not register on any sort of resonance imaging devices. It was in essence hidden away from the world, lost in the darkness of the War's shadow.<p>

But today the room wasn't dark. After over 200 years of inactivity an air circulating system came to life, blowing away two centuries worth of dust and dead insects. In the center of the room a single pair of florescent tube lights flickered on, their weak glow coating the room in a sickly yellow light. This room was not made to please the eye, it was made for war.

Along the far wall a computer stood, large and bulky it was missing more than a few buttons. It seemed as if the whole room had been somehow scrapped together hastily. In the far corner was a Silo. But unlike those found in Hopeville, this silo did not contain nuclear cargo. It was around 9 feet tall, stretching from floor to ceiling and as the lights grew brighter one could see that it was filled completely with a strange bright green gel.

The computer screen on the wall displayed what at first looked like a graph, but upon latter inspection is a heart rate monitor. A slow and steady _blip_ accompanies the rise and fall of a small wave. Inside the gel a dark from comes into view as more lights around the room activate.

The mysterious computer emits a long sequence of beeping and begins to print out a long document. 20 pages latter and it is finished, a single word appears on its screen—draining. And the green gel begins to recede, revealing the very pale face of an Asian man. An Asian man with five stars emblazed upon his uniform. The Chinese are here..Two centuries too late.


	2. Private Cowboy

**Chapter 2: Private Cowboy**

**July 7th 2283**

The El Rey Motel was no an ideal place to be, but to Jim Trotter the sight of the beaten up old motel was like a gift from heaven. Though it had once been a convenient place to spend the night after a long night in Las Vegas the El Rey had turned into a den of drugs, prostitution, and other unsavory behavior. Jim never thought he would see the day when the sight of its boarded up doors and decrepit stairwells would fill him with such hope. Because if he could see the El Rey, then he had escaped Fiend Territory, and there was never a time when that was not a cause for celebration.

However, Jim was in no shape for a celebration, though he had escaped the grasp of the Fiends it had not been easy or come without a price. His leg was broken, being held in place by several splints, and was shooting jolts of pain up his leg with every hobbled step he took. Only 10 yards further did the bridge he was limping his way across extend, and if he could just make it to the sandbag barrier he would be safe.

After what seemed like an eternity of painful movement Jim finally reached the Barrier and sat down, unable to take another step forward. It was there that he likely would have remained had the NCR sentry patrol not spotted him and brought him back. Two soldiers carried him the remaining 200 or so yards to the safe confines of Camp McCarran, which was acting as the NCR's head of military operations in the Mojave.

The camp was what was left of McCarran International Airport, back in pre-war times. But with war with China looming, the United States government had cut off most of the runways in favor of building a massive 50 yard high wall surrounding the perimeter of the complex. The base was near a square mile in area, with a sentry watch tower situated every 100 yards or so along the top of the wall.

In the center of Camp McCarran stood the old terminal building, which was where the dining hall, armory, prison, and medical center were located. As he was carried up one of the long broken escalators Jim thought he could make out Colonel Hsu talking to a man he'd never seen around camp before, but his vision was beginning to blur and he gave into the pain and saw no more.

**Three Weeks Earlier**

**June 17th 2283**

The firing range rang out with the blasts of gun powder and the occasional _phew_ of an energy weapon. It was high noon and the sun was beating down upon Camp McCarran, its bright light cutting through the nuclear haze of the Mojave skies. Jim stared down the barrel of his hunting shotgun, at the target dummies and tapped the hair trigger. A slug flew from the choked opening of the barrel and buried itself in the center of the target.

The targets here were made in the shape of enemy fiends, complete with the typical crude armor common to the raiders. The target he was shooting at had tire threads as shoulder pads and PVC lead pipes for arms. After firing of a few more rounds and packing away his extra ammunition Jim turned to leave, having done enough practice for one day; that was the problem with firing a shotgun, no matter how much padding you added to the butt of the gun, it always left your shoulder numb.

As he turned to leave Jim found that he was being stared at by a short, but stout looking dark skinned man in officers clothing. His armor was that of a commanding officer and displayed the NCR symbol of a two-headed bear following a red star, with the letters NCR written vertically in front of the star. His face was mostly covered by a dark scruffy beard, but what Jim could see was that of a soldier who has seen and done many things in their life they regretted. Despite this haggard appearance Jim knew that the Major was well respected among the other soldiers and officers for reason he had not been made aware of. The only thing that he had managed to learn about the man in the 3 months since being sent to McCarran after basic training was that Dhatri was in charge of bounties, and that he was not a man who dealt with nonsense well.

When Dhatri saw that he had caught Jim's gaze he motioned for him to come over to him to talk. Confused as to what the Major could want with him, but not willing to risk looking disrespectful Jim complied with the command.

"So, I see you handle yourself pretty well with that shotgun." Dhatri said flatly, more of a statement than a compliment. "What's your name and Rank soldier?"

"I am Private James Trotter, sir!" Jim said standing at attention while the Major tried to remember who he was. Finally, after seeming to decide that Jim was not familiar to him, the Major responded.

"Well Private Trotter, you seem pretty handy with a gun, how would you like to join First Recon Alpha division with some work they're doing in South Vegas?"

"Sir, pardon my rudeness and I don't mean to question your thinking, but isn't 1st Recon a sniping platoon?" Jim replied "I'm no sniper." Dhatri tensed up at Jim's words and sighed.

"Son, do I look like I need to be told the difference between your boom stick there and a sniping riffle?" He asked calmly point to the shotgun at Jim's side. "I've been in the NCR army since before you were born, and I will not have my orders questioned by every Private Whateverthefuck who shows up and thinks he can do my job. Now get your ass over to the 1st Recon tent and report to Lieutenant Gorobets NOW! And if I see your ass around camp and not in that tent any time between when I walk away and when he tells me you have reported for duty I will have you on kitchen duty until we either take over Vegas or the wastelands kill us all!" Dhatri continued, his voice increasing in volume with every word until by the end of his tirade he was shouting and all eyes and ears were focused on the unfortunate private who'd gotten on the Major's bad side. Jim nodded in acknowledgement that he understood and headed east across the old world parking lot to the resident tents and hoped that Dhatri wouldn't be coming by any time soon.

Jim received a rude awakening the next morning in the form of a very angry women shaking him into consciousness and throwing him from his bed onto the floor. She was not a particularly large woman, but the look in her eyes and on her face, not to mention the large riffle slung across her back, told him she was not someone to be crossed. Unfortunately it seemed that crossing her was a mistake he had already made.

"Who the fuck let Private Cowboy here into the 1st Recon tent?" She yelled towards a group of 4 men sitting around a card table in the center of the large military tent that, along with many others like it, served as barracks for the soldiers in the Mojave. One of the men, whose head was covered in a red face wrap, gave a halfhearted chuckle but the others ignored her outburst entirely. Obviously disappointed in her joke's failure the woman turned back to Jim, who was picking himself up from where she had tossed him. "Who are you and why is your cowboy ass in bed?" she demanded of him.

"Name's Private Jim Trotter." He muttered groggily, still trying to clear the sleepiness from his head. "Major Dhatri sent me over yesterday. He said something about some sort of work I was supposed to help 1st Recon with down in South Vegas."

"Well ain't that just fuckin like the asshole. Sending the finest sniper team in the NCR a damn cowboy." She grumbled, more to herself than to Jim. However, Jim didn't understand his new nickname and wanted clarification.

"Why do you keep calling me 'Private Cowboy'?" He questioned growing impatient and a bit annoyed now that he was aware enough to understand the situation.

"Well let's see, maybe because you're a private and you look like a fucking cowboy! Leather armor, a six-shooter complete with an unnecessarily large holster, wavy blonde hair, and a double barreled shotgun? Shit I hear Primm is looking for a new Sherriff, all you need is a big ass hat and an oversized belt buckle and you'd look just like a gay John Wayne walking those streets!" she said incredulously, as if he had just asked her what color the sky was.

"Who's John—"He began, but was cut off by the woman clasping a hand over his mouth and stepping forward to bring her face within inches of his.

"This conversation is over." She said calmly annunciating every syllable pointedly. "You can call me Corporal Betsy. And this—"she pointed to her bed "—is Corporal Betsy's bed. If Private Cowboy gets caught in it again, he may have to meet the butt of Corporal Betsy's gun. Am I understood?" Jim nodded and she removed her hand from his mouth and walked back to her bed.

Stunned Jim stood in place until a voice from across the tent broke him from his stupor. He turned around and saw a man wearing a similar uniform to Dhatri sitting at the circular table with the 3 other members of the squad. Jim immediately recognized him as Lieutenant Gorobets, the man whom Dhatri had said he was to report in with.

"So Dhatri sent you over here to help us out with our work down south, huh? Well I'm sure whatever they are he has his reasons." Gorobets said casually. He had a deep voice that was matching to his large frame and stature. However, unlike the Major, there was something about this man that put Jim at ease. Gesturing to an empty chair he invited Jim to sit with them. "Why don't you take a seat and let me introduce our team."

"Alright, just as long as this isn't Betsy's chair." Jim replied half-joking, but also a bit worried. This drew a chuckle from the officer and a sigh from the man on his right.

As it turned out Jim was not the only new addition to 1st recon. To his right was fellow squad rookie 10 of Spades. This was the man who had given Betsy her only laugh earlier, though he had now removed the face wrap to reveal a dark skinned face still obscured slightly by a pair of large thick rimmed glasses. Like Betsy and two other men at the table he wore a red Beret with a small insignia depicting crossed riffles and the short phrase 'The Last Thing You Never See'. 10 of spades was looking around nervously and didn't seem to be one to talk.

Seated to the rookie's left was a Hispanic man with a dark mustache and chin beard, who was introduced as Sergeant Bitter-Root. He wasn't very talkative, but he didn't seem to be hostile towards Jim, which was a great relief. To Bitter-Root's right was Gorobets and next to him, and to Jim's left, was the oldest member of the group.

A tall man with skin darker than Bitter-Root, but lighter than Dhatri or 10 of Spades, this was Corporal Sterling. He was approaching his 50's and his body showed the signs of many battles. As he stroked his graying mustache Jim could see that he worse bandages from his wrists to the base of each finger, though he didn't seem to be in any pain because of it. Instead of the red beret he wore an NCR Ranger wide brimmed hat, and Jim suspected that if he were asked he could tell quite a few stories from those days.

After the introductions were all made and Jim had talked with the group, getting to know his new partners, Gorobets rose from the table. He motioned for Jim to follow him to the door of the tent where he stopped and looked out over the camp.

"Get yourself ready and go get whatever you need from your old barracks, I've already informed Dhatri that you made it to our tent. We leave tonight at 1900 hours." Gorobets told him, still looking out over the camp proceedings.

"Where are we going?" Jim wondered curiously.

"Well my golf swing has been a bit off lately, so we're gonna go into South Vegas and see if we can't hit a driver." The Lieutenant replied with a laugh.


	3. Begin Again I

**Chp 3: Begin Again: I**

**July 1st 2283**

Far south of the bright lights and sounds of New Vegas was a deep gash in the earth; named Crescent Canyon by explorers it was miles long and roughly 200 yards deep at its shallowest point. Approaching the vast fissure in the earth from the north it seemed almost as if the ground had opened up a gateway to the underworld, as the orangish glow of nuclear waste illuminated the bottom and sides of the gapping scar.

It was on the edge of this monument to the destructive power of man that a woman sat around a small fire grilling fresh Gecko meat. The fire crackled in front of her as the heat radiated into her tired frame, the warmth soothing her aching muscles. The lone explorer sat motionless staring into the embers of her fire lost in thought, the dark red tint of her hair accented in the warm glow of the flames.

Next to this strange camp lay the remains of a boxcar, tipped on its side, with the rest of the train laying at the bottom of the trench on whose edge it rested. Across the ravine the land towered another 100 or so yards higher in the air, and what was left of this Train's tracks could be seen. Though they were little more than rotting, splintered wood and twisted, distorted metal, it was almost as if they called to the other side to return and close the abomination that had warped the land between them.

The woman shifted slightly in order to better position the meat that would soon be her dinner. In doing so she accidentally nudged the dial of her radio, which had been securely stored away in her pack. Music erupted from the speakers of the receiver, music that brought the explorer back to her past…

* * *

><p><strong>2 Years Before<strong>

**March 10th 2281**

"And now introducing the Brimstone's Fiery Princess, Lia Evahns!" The stage crier announced with a flourish. The Curtains parted and Lia came strutting out on to the stage. Her lengthy pale legs were a startling contrast to the drab and dark interior of the strip bar, but were reined in by the black bands crisscrossing up both. Lia's hair was long and flowed down her back and splashed over her shoulders like a crimson shroud. The straps meet at her hips with a very low cut skirt, held in place by a pair of handcuffs tightly clasped around her thin waist.

The spotlight that remained fixed upon her blinded Lia to most of the crowd, which was just as well as far as she was concerned. But when she reached the end of the long catwalk the light flickered a bit and Lia saw a man at the bar staring at her with a hunger in his eyes she had never seen before from even the most eager patrons.

Trying not to think about the man did nothing to push his face from her thoughts, and the more Lia attempted to concentrate the more his appearance appeared in her mind. His skin was dark, but also had the appearance of premature age that only came with the excessive use of Jet. Below his hungry yet completely empty eyes was a large and unkempt mustache that not even a Khan would defend the existence of.

Finally Lia managed to remove the image from her head and continued with her routine. The act she was in involved not only her dancing and acting as eye candy, but also a fire spinning show. The act prominently featured her spinning around flaming balls of cloth soaked in kerosene connected to long chains the ends of which she wrapped around her arms.

She spun the flaming orbs in looping arcs, carefulliy intertwining the chains, yet doing so in such a way that they unraveled without a hitch. Seamlessly flowing from one move to the next she danced a seductive dance of fire and sex for the dumbstruck crowd.

At the end of the night when her display of fire and dance had reached its conclusion Lia walked back across the floor of the Brimstone towards the double doors leading to the courtyard and the performers sleeping tents. However before she could reach the wooden doors the man from the bar stepped out of the shadows and blocked her path.

Lia's heart raced as she looked around for an Omerta to call for help to. A quick scan of the room showed no one was in sight, which only served to further accelerate the rapid beating of her heart beneath the skin tight leather bra she wore on stage. The man stood in front of her in a disgustingly stained white shirt and his smell burned Lia's nose even though she was still several yards away.

Just as Lia was about to scream for help she noticed something about him had changed. The look of primal hunger was no longer in his eyes, though they still looked empty there was fear in them; the emotion was reflected on his face and in his demeanor in excess. Still silent he extended his hand to her. Clutched inside was a note scrawled on a napkin.

Having delivered the note the strange man turned and walked out of the room towards the direction of the exclusive Zoara Club leaving Lia standing by the doors with the note clutched in her hand. Confused she opened the note and read.

"To anyone who reads this, know that I do not remember my crime, but I regret it till my last breathe" –Troike

Lia contemplated the message for a few moments before walking out the doors back to her tent. Troike, if that was the scared man's name, was certainly odd. But what did he mean about his "crime", and why did he give an apology to a woman he had never met in his life?

Lia's focus was broken when she entered her tent and found someone sitting there waiting for her. Sitting on the pad that was her bed was a short woman that Lia recognized as one of the Strippers who worked on the main floor. The woman had a very serious face, framed by straight jet black hair which fit with her tanned skin and skin-tight and torn leather suit.

"Um, hi." Lia greeted the woman awkwardly "Did you need something?" The woman got to her feet, the top of her head still only reaching Lia's chin.

"There's something you should see." The woman said, picking up a holotape from the bed and handing it to Lia. "There's a computer in Joana's room, so just put that into the slot on the side and watch it. When you're done pass it on to Dazzle, and if I were you I'd pack my things."

"Why is that?" Lia questioned, not sure what to make of the situation. She could tell the woman in front of her was shaken, and from what she had said her condition seemed to be related to whatever was on this holotape. "What's on here? Why are you telling me this?"

Her questions went unanswered; instead the messenger tightened her lips and shook her head furiously. As if she had forgotten something urgent the strange woman jumped to her feet and bolted from Lia's tent, leaving Lia sitting on her bed as the violet curtains that acted as her tent door swayed in the wake of the hasty exit.

Startled by the encounter, but also curious Lia poked her head out of her tent. The courtyard was quiet and showed no signs of the flighty messenger. Lia stepped out of her tent and headed across the elegant piazza towards the far wall to the east where Joana's room was.

The courtyard was around the size of a football field, and featured perhaps Gomorrah's most famous contribution to the strip—Prostitutes. Though Lia had managed to avoid these duties because of her fire dancing routine, she was still constantly bombarded by desperate waste landers, drunken soldiers, and the occasional high roller. The Omerta's knew Big Sal had marked her as being off limits so long as she was their employee, so they stayed clear and would help "remove" anyone who bothered her too much.

Unfortunately for Lia the other strippers had taken notice of her special conditions, and as a result she was often left as an outsider to the group. It made for a lonely existence at times, but Lia supposed it was better than the alternative.

After slowly snaking through the groups of patrons, who tended to gather in mass around the shallow pool in the center of the courtyard, Lia was finally climbing the steps to the second floor of Gomorrah's balcony. As she headed towards Joana's room she pondered what might be on the holotape; whatever it was it was enough to frighten the woman who brought it to her, and to set her running away from it as quickly as she could.

Joana opened her door quickly after only two quick knocks and ushered Lia inside swiftly. She was wearing nothing but a bra, panties and a pink, and nearly see-through, nightgown. Her hair was pulled back into a short pony tail that fell around the top of the choke collar she wore around her neck. Gesturing to a computer terminal in the corner of the room she urged Lia to sit down and put in the tape.

"Just put it in that slot and hit this button." Joana instructed, pointing to a long skinny key on the keyboard. "And when it's finished don't go anywhere, I'll be back in ten minutes and we can talk then." She finished. Her instructions delivered Joana walked outside to do whatever it was she needed to do and left Lia alone with the computer and holotape.

Apprehensively Lia slid the tape into the machine and pressed the key. The screen sprang to life showing a small dark room with large chunks or drywall missing from its dirt caked walls. The quality of the picture wasn't great, but Lia could see sharp hooks hanging from the ceiling and a Gommorah sign in the far corner of the room marked it as part of the casino. The camera panned out revealing an island style counter; chained to the table was a prostitute who was shaking in apparent terror. The camera shook then steadied itself, as if it were being placed into a stand. A man walked into view on the camera and began to tighten the chains to extend his victims arms and legs to as full an extent as he could even as she whimpered in pain. The camera was trained on the woman so Lia couldn't get a very good glimpse of the man in the video. However what she did se was enough to chill her blood; he was wearing gloves, a long sleeved shirt, pants and even a woman's veil to cover most of his face, but the veil didn't cover down far enough and Lia saw a bushy mustache covering his lip.

Remembering the note she had been given by Troike Lia wondered if this is what he was talking about when he said his "crime". After watching the rest of the video she was convinced that it couldn't be. Troike tortured the poor prostitute in every imaginable way, bringing her so close to the edge of death that even Lia prayed for her to die, but never finishing the job until at last she was at peace.

The video cut off abruptly and Lia sat in place trying to comprehend what she had just witnessed. Troike had seemed to be terrified when they had met briefly, how could a man like that do something like this? How could anyone do something like this to any other person? Lia didn't have an answer, but she knew one thing—she had to flee the Gomorrah. Apology letter or not Troike was obviously deranged and had already singled her out once; what would she do if he decided the first victim wasn't enough for his sadistic tastes?

While she sat in the chair basked in the green glow of the terminal, no longer showing the ghastly holotape footage, Joana returned carrying a bundle of clothing. Lia turned to her with eyes wide in fear in hopes that she would tell her it was all an elaborate hoax. When she didn't Lia began to shake as panic began to set in. She ran over to the prostitute and pleaded for her help.

"Please Joana; I need to get out of here!" She begged, desperation filling her voice. "He knows who I am!"

"Who knows who you are?" Joana asked unfazed.

"The man from the video! Troike!" Lia responded astounded at Joana's calm demeanor. "What if he comes after me next?"

"Well that is what this is for." Joana responded pointing the bundle she had dropped onto the desk near the door. Upon inspection the bundle turned out to be a dress bag containing a typical gambling dress and veil, not unlike the one Troike had used. "Now get changed, my contact will be here any minute."

"Your contact?" Lia whispered in wonder.

"Yes, my contact" Joana said with a smile. "We're getting you out of this hell hole tonight."

**To Be Continued…**

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><p><strong>NOTE<strong>-Any feedback you wish to give is always appreciated, and don't hesitate to say what you didn't like either, every bit helps me write it better next time.


	4. A Rude Awakening

**Chp 4: A Rude Awakening**

**12:00 PM July 3****rd****, 2283**

Deep below the deserted Little Yangtze camp a man opened his eyes slowly. Light rushed into them from the fluorescent bulbs placed around the room. He attempted to lift his hand to shield himself from the bright glow, but his action was interrupted by his motion being restricted by a wall of some sort. Puzzled, the man pushed up against the barrier and found it to be quite sturdy. Feeling around he found that he was in some sort of tube, roughly two and a half feet in diameter. Further investigation revealed that the walls of his prison were made of some sort of Plexiglas transparent casing through which he could see a large computer on the other side of a small room.

The top and the bottom of his enclosure disappeared into groves in two metal plates, one attached to the ceiling and the other to the floor. The top plate had wires and a face mask attached to a hose dangling from it, but these were quickly retracted into the ceiling through a slot that slid open to allow their entry.

Around his bare feet a green gel was slowly receding into small drain like holes in the bottom plate. Curious as to what the gel was the man attempted to kneel down to investigate it further. However, this plan was foiled by the small confines of the tube. The Asian occupant ran a pale hand through his jet black short cut hair in an attempt to calm himself.

The motion however had little effect on his growing frustration; any memory of why he was standing in this room was lost to him, if such memories had ever even existed at all. His frustration turned to fear as he contemplated his situation. He was locked in a tiny prison which seemed to be able to be filled with some sort of mysterious gel at the whim of whoever had put him here. And for that matter who had put him here? He remembered little of who he was or what his life had been like up to this point. He began to fear that he would die trapped like an animal in a cage with no knowledge of whom he was or why he was there.

These fears threatened to overwhelm him as he slumped down against the side of his prison walls. Helplessness began to set in, increased by his natural claustrophobia. Eventually his phobia won out and he began to grow angry at his situation and whatever force had put him in it. His previous fears were turned into rage and he lashed out in the only way he could. Over and over he slammed his hand against the glass wall in an attempt to break through the barrier standing between him and the room, which no longer seemed quite so small.

Unfortunately confined as he was his blows did little to the Plexiglas cylinder but he was not willing to give up quite that easily. He leaned back as far against the back of the tube as the small space allowed and launched his shoulder into its far wall. Like his previous actions he could not generate anywhere near the force required to break through the tough polymer, but his persistence paid off as the force was enough to activate a sensor built into the containment unit. A light on the top plate of the silo flicked on and with a hiss the walls quickly slid down into the floor, releasing him from his torment.

The man was overcome with relief and stumbled off of the metal plate and collapsed onto the ground and lay there as exhaustion overcame him and he slept.

* * *

><p><strong>8:00 AM July 4<strong>**th****, 2283**

It was morning the following day when the prisoner finally awoke, lying in the same place where he had collapsed the previous evening. He sat up and groggily looked around the room. It was small, but not uncomfortably so, with a large computer at one end and the silo that had held him captive the previous day in a corner on the other. He was sitting in the center of the room directly underneath a pair of fluorescent tubes that were the main source of light in the room, though other smaller tubes were built into alcoves along the walls near the ceiling.

From behind him he heard a sudden, sharp beeping sound and a bright light flashed. He turned around quickly to see that the computer had completed some process and its screen now read, "Process Complete: Wake Operative". Sitting next to the computer was a large stack of papers—a document twenty pages in length written in standard Mandarin characters—the man grabbed the stack and began to read.

Operation: Mojave

Operative Name: Neu Zhang

Age upon Entering Stasis: 24

Height: 172.72 cm (70 inch)

Weight: 97.52 kg (215 lbs.)

Division: People's Liberation Army-Special Operations

The memory rushing back to him the prisoner knew that this was his personal information; his name was Neu Zhang, and he also knew he was no prisoner. He was a soldier, with a mission.

* * *

><p>Neu decided that before making any rash decisions he should read over the rest of the document, as his memory was still not fully recovered. The first five pages were strictly personal information about him and his life. As he read the details more and more of his memory returned to him; He remembered he had a wife back home as well a child. His father had served in the PLA and was the reason that Neu had joined the service to begin with.<p>

The next five pages were mission details that he was to follow. The mission in question was an infiltration, reconnaissance, and sabotage of the Hoover Dam—a key source of power for the United States of America located on the Colorado River between the former states of Arizona and Nevada, now part of the Southwest and Four States Commonwealths respectively.

The Mission required that he meet up with other sleeper agents that would make up the recon team in Boulder City on September 19th, 2077. However, in order to smuggle him into the country he would have to be brought in to the country with low risk construction materials, which were generally not given thorough inspections. The catch to this was that those types of shipments would be loaded and packed up to ship, but due to logistical problems with fuel shortages a delivery of non-perishable goods could sit in a warehouse or on a loading dock for months or even years at a time. To bypass this snag the military researchers assigned to Neu's special operations team had devised a plan in which they could use stasis chamber to keep the operatives suspended indefinitely. Heart rate and brainwave monitors would measure vitals, and electro stimulation would keep the soldiers muscles from undergoing muscular atrophy. What little nutrients were needed would be provided by the Green gel surrounding them, which doubled as a protective padding from the jostling and shifting that occurred in the cargo bays of large transport vessels.

Neu was not told his exact location, just that he was located deep under a military research center somewhere in the Mojave mountain range. The research center was constructed inside of a system of tunnels and caves carved out of one of these mountains, and that while security was tight satisfactory equipment would be provided to him so that he could do recon and leave unnoticed. Nowhere in the mission briefing however was a current date given to him so Neu put it aside and continued to peruse the next section of the document.

The last section was ten pages thick and contained exactly what Neu had been looking for—Dates. All of the major and minor events were noted in chronological order beginning with the day Neu vanished from the outside world. Included were victories and defeats that The People's Republic of China had suffered as well as updates on regional politics. Most of the information was useless to Neu at the moment, but 10 entries stood out as if they had been written in red.

**May 1****st**, 2073-Neu Zhang Enters Stasis

**2074**-Alaska falls to United States Military Equipped with "tank suits"

**2074**-United States Military Pushes assault into P.R.C.

**June 1****st****, 2076**-New "Tank Suits" wreaking havoc, P.L.A. suffers heavy casualties

**September 9****th****, 2077**-Scheduled Stasis release interrupted/canceled

**September 20****th****, 2077**-Operation: Mojave failure

**(8:00 AM) October 23****rd****, 2077**- CODE RED! NUCLEAR STOCKPILE FULL RELEASE!

**(8:20) October 23****rd****, 2077**-ICMB's incoming in mass from U.S.S.R. and U.S.A., emergency protocols activated

**(8:30 AM) October 23****rd****, 2077**-Connection to Network P.L.A. lost

**(8:00 AM) July 3****rd****, 2283**-Stasis interrupted, release sequence activated

The last four entries in particular stood out to Neu, their words screaming at him, commanding his full attention, and bringing him to his knees. Over and over he read those lines, not believing what he was reading; it was the fear of every soldier in both armies that the day would come when either side launched their payload. Indeed it was a fear that was shared by the entire planet, for everyone knew that once someone acted that everyone else would respond in kind. The result would be devastation on a level that had never before been witnessed at any time in human history.

Neu knew better than most what the destructive power of those weapons was. Before he was recruited by the special operations division of the Army he worked as a guard for a nuclear development research center. It was there that he'd witnessed breakthroughs in Nuclear weaponry occur. Many times the test sites that the researchers were using would have to be abandoned in favor of new ones, but this was not due to the levels of radiation surrounding them, it was because many times the islands used as test sites simply ceased to exist—the bombs were erasing them from the face of the planet with deadly efficiency.

With the images of those blasts in his head as he read Neu lost hope that he would ever see the one's he loved again. Despair gripped him completely upon reading the last line of the report, he day he had been released from stasis—210 years after he'd entered it. It may have been possible that his family had survived the blasts, though if what was written in the report was true and P.R.C, the U.S.S.R. and the U.S.A. had all unleashed their full arsenal he doubted it, but over two centuries had passed since that day. Neu knew that no one could survive for that long; even in pre-war society with all of its medicines much less in whatever desolate land that he was sure awaited him.

Greif washed over him like floodwater bursting from a dam, consuming every inch of his being. Neu began to weep freely as the memories of a family he would never again see flashed through his mind. Pictures of his father in his uniform returning home when Neu was a small child, the memory of his first meeting with his future wife, their wedding and the birth of his son and the look of pride on his father's face upon hearing that his son had been invited to join the special operations force all rushed through his head. Neu wept for all of them. He wept for his wife to whom he'd longed to return, for his son that he'd never seen enough of, for his mother and for his father, and for all of his friends back home. Neu wept for his country and for the world that had died the day the bombs had dropped, but he did not weep for himself.

Consumed by his grief he fell from his knew to the floor and lay their motionless; the only sign that he was still alive were the tears that flowed from his eyes. It was in that room and in that place that a part of Neu died.


	5. Death Valley Snipers

**Chp 5: Death Valley Snipers**

**4:00 AM June 18****th****, 2283**

Camp McCarran was still sleeping when 1st Recon made their way across the grounds of the former airport. Over the walls of the fortress the first dim rays of light could be seen sneaking in, bringing with them another day under the hot Mojave sun. The group was packed lightly, carrying with them only enough for the job that was ahead. Sentries patrolled the walls, but other than them and the gate guard no one in the camp was awake.

When they exited the camp they formed a diamond formation, with Gorobets taking the front, Betsy guarding the rear, Sterling and Bitter-Root on the flanks, and Jim and 10 of Spades positioned in the middle of the pack. The mood quickly became tense, with few words exchanged between the veteran members. Jim was however curious as to where they were going having been told only to prepare for a fight, and to pack lightly. So, his curiosity getting the best of him he began to question the other young member of the group.

"So what exactly is going on?" Jim asked quietly as they made their way past the El Rey Motel.

"Fiend hunting." The young soldier replied his voice muffled through the face wrap he wore. "Driver Nephi has been causing all kinds of trouble for caravans on the I-15. Been doing it for years."

"Then why hasn't the NCR gone after him before?" Jim questioned. 10 of spades sighed and shook his head in response.

"We have, but the guy is a fucking ghost. He'll be there one minute then gone the next, and before you know it he's flanked you and you have a crazy as fuck fiend chasing you down with a golf club." He replied, the tones of anger in his voice betraying his personal experience in the matter. "We almost had him tracked down once, but then we were called back to fight in that disaster at the dam. "

"So do we have him tracked down now?" Jim asked, feelings of doubt in their mission creeping in upon hearing about the elusive target.

"Depends. If by we you mean the NCR, then no." 10 of Spades said cryptically before continuing. "But Young does." There was venom in his voice as he said the man's name.

"That traitor filth!" Jim exclaimed, almost halting his walk. "We trust that bastard?"

David Young was at the top of the NCR's most hated citizens list, but he was perhaps the one man in the Mojave whom they answered to. Everyone who'd ever visited Vegas knew the story of David Young. Before the war he'd been nothing more than a simple courier, however things had changed rapidly. After nearly dying on a delivery to the mysterious Mr. House Young began a quest for revenge upon the man who almost ended his life. The story ended at Hoover Dam with Young wearing the armor of Legate Lanius—the former commanding officer of Caesar's Legion. He'd not only banished the Legion from the dam, but told NCR General Oliver in no uncertain terms that he and his men were to leave the dam behind them. Backed as he was by an army of Securitrons, armed to the teeth with guns and missiles, the NCR had been forced to retreat.

In the two years that followed Young had reached an agreement with the NCR that they could have a military presence at Camp McCarran, but all other outposts would have to be removed and the number of soldiers remaining in the Mojave would be reduced drastically. The message that he had sent was clear, the city of New Vegas was his and he would tolerate no resistance.

"We don't have much of a choice." 10 of spades said resignedly "Besides, his Intel is better than ours could ever hope to be, and he wants the fiends dead as much as we do. Maybe more."

The group walked in silence across the I-15 overpass, and Jim became lost in his thoughts. When he'd signed up to fight for the NCR 3 years ago this was not what he'd expected. The recruiter had enamored him with the stories of soldiers bravely fighting against the evils of the barbaric Legion. Instead he was a part of a team of what boiled down to bounty hunters, off to kill some drugged up murderer seemingly to appease the greatest enemy his nation had in the Mojave.

* * *

><p>It was noon when the team arrived at the New Vegas Steel building. The trek to get there had been long and tense, so everyone was more than happy to sit down and relax. Bitter-Root and Betsy had been assigned to the first shift of guard duty but Jim, Sterling, 10 of Spades, and Gorobets were making themselves comfortable.<p>

They group was perched in a control room suspended high above the abandoned steel mill's floor. Scattered around the mill were the remains of at least 5 Mr. Handy robots, several of which had large fist shaped dents in their hulls. The mill wasn't especially large, and appeared to have been in working order relatively recently judging by the, still molten hot, vats of liquid steel. Jim returned his attention to the group, where Sterling was recanting his younger days to 10 of Spades.

"Damn slavers thought they gone and killed me right 'bout that point." He was telling the attentive young sniper. "But I wasn't a Ranger because I'm one to give up. Well them bastards figured I wasn't going nowhere, what with the hurtin' they put on my hands and feet, but I crawled by ass right on out of that camp. Now mind you I was still in a hell of tight spot, but then I thought to myself 'Sterling, you can either let these bastards deliver you to your grave, or you can take away that satisfaction and do it your damn self'. So I rolled my ass right on down that hill into the Colorado; turns out I had some friends watching over me and a few Rangers plucked me out of that river fast as all hell." It was a story they'd all heard before, except for Jim of course who was amazed by the old man's bravery.

"So that's why you have those bandages?" He asked, pointing to the white strips of cloth that covered Corporal Sterling's arms to such an extent that at first glance one might think they were just another garment of clothing.

"Aye son." The former ranger replied sagely. "And what's your story?"

"I'm just a farm boy from Shady Sands who came to the Mojave to make something of himself." Jim answered, realizing how simple it made him sound. The truth wasn't far off however, he had been born in shady Sands and lived there most of his life. Had he never taken that trip to the Boneyard he might not have even been there at the moment. Jim pushed away these thoughts and continued on. "I just guess I thought there'd be more going on out here than there is." Sterling let out a small chuckle and gave his reply.

"Son trust me, I've seen enough action to know that the boring times are much better than the exciting ones."

Whatever response to Sterling's statement that Jim may have had was lost in his throat when Betsy came storming up the ramp and across the Long metal walkway leading to their temporary base of operations. She was quickly followed, albeit much more quietly, by Bitter-Root. Lieutenant Gorobets did not look happy to see the two and wore a stern look when he addressed them.

"Corporal, Sergeant!" He barked at the two soldiers, who shot to a stiff attention. "What the hell are you two doing away from your posts?"

"Large wave of Fiends approaching from the west, sir!" Bitter-Root responded. "Nephi is not among them, but the group is 10 members strong armed with light to medium energy weaponry. I suggest we let them enter and snipe them before they know what hit them." Jim recognized the terminology "light-to-medium energy weapons" as any weaponry that included Plasma and Laser pistols all the way up to Plasma Rifles and Laser RCW's.

"And how about you Corporal?" Gorobets asked turning to Betsy.

"I agree with Bitter-Root, sir." She replied, further explaining herself. "We have the element of surprise and the higher ground."

"I trust the two of you and your judgments." The lieutenant replied considering his next move. His eyes flitted around the steel mill for a moment then he began to give out orders. "Bitter-Root, you take ground floor by the north door; wait until they are all inside before you take your shot. Sterling and Betsy you take this long section of the cat walk space yourselves out. Me and 10 of Spades will be in the offices downstairs. Jim, stay in here and cover the stairs entrance. When they enter everyone pick two marks; as soon as you see the first go down move onto the second. I would really rather not let these bastards get a shot off; we've all seen how nasty laser burns can be. Now everyone get into position."

As the team scrambled into their respective places Jim couldn't help but thinking about what the Lieutenant had said. He'd never actually seen anyone fire an energy weapon before, since they weren't exactly commonplace back home on the farms, and almost wanted to see one in action. This urge was however trumped by the much greater desire to not be on the receiving end of one of the aforementioned "Nasty Burns".

The moments passed in tense silence as 1st Recon prepared itself for the fight. Jim carefully loaded the hunting rifle he had been given by Gorobets upon being transferred to the squad. The Commanding Officer had told him the rifle was a gift to the squad, but not who had given it to them—a point he'd been very tightlipped about. Where it came from didn't matter too much to Jim though; he was fine with the gun as long as it worked. And to that end it was very effective. The stock was hand carved out of a light but sturdy wood, Sterling had told him it was maple but Jim didn't know for sure, and fit perfectly against his frame. His cheek rested upon a green, white, and red striped flag with a symbol in the middle he did not recognize. Directly in front of the flag was the word "Paciencia", etched into the stock in an elegant script.

No sooner than he'd locked the magazine into place did the northern door to the steel mill open. A band of the most sordid individuals that Jim had ever laid eyes on walked in looking around, presumably for things to loot. Jim took his eyes off of the group for a second to sneak a glance at Betsy; she was holding her hand out with five fingers extended, then four—a countdown. Still monitoring her progress out of the corner of his eye Jim looked down the barrel of his rifle and targeted the closest Fiend to him. It was a large intensely pale man who carried a very dangerous looking Laser RCW slung across his should in addition to several combat knives lining his boots. Over his head he wore the skull of some long dead animal, a protective measure that was as disgusting as it was useless.

The next few seconds were a bit of a blur to Jim. Betsy put her last finger down and three shots rang out from the bottom floor of the Mill; the vibrations rang very loudly in the wide open space of the abandoned factory. Faster than he'd have thought possible Jim's target reacted to the gunfire and his hands grasped the gun on his back. Before the gun was even a fraction of the way over the man's shoulder he fell dead to the ground, but by his bullet or someone else's Jim did not know. The rest of the fiends were quickly dispatched of by Gorobets and Bitter-Root before they even knew what was going on.

* * *

><p>1st recon sat in the upper room again later that evening as they prepared to leave, but Jim did not going them choosing instead to volunteer for watch duty. Up in the room they would no doubt be discussing how best to approach Nephi and various tactics to employ, but nothing they would said mattered much to Jim. He's never killed a man like that before, never in cold blood without the opponent having a fighting chance, and he didn't know how to feel.<p>

On one hand the man's death was no doubt good for the Mojave as it was likely that his list of misdeeds was longer than some books, but on the other he hadn't even known what hit him. The whole thing just seemed wrong to Jim. As he watched the sun set over the mountains to the west Jim received no answers to his dilemma, only the promise of night.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>

It seems that I may have acciedentally uploaded the wrong files initially for the first 4 chapters. The dates should be 2283 and 2281 not 2281 and 2279. I replaced the chapter with the corrected versions, but I just thought I would make a point to highlight that just in case the change is confusing.


	6. Begin Again II

**Chp 6: Begin Again II**

**12:00 AM March 11, 2281**

Lia sat anxiously in her tent waiting for Joanna to return with instructions for her imminent escape. She stared out through the thick fabric curtains that served as a door to her tent, to the pool beyond.

During the day gamblers and other guests would often inhabit its calming water sending ripples across the surface with every motion of their bodies. At this time of night however, most of the guests were preoccupied with either lady luck, or getting lucky with a lady. So the pool sat, an undisturbed mirror of the night sky, as Lia did—in silence.

The tranquility of her private oasis was broken by the sudden sound of footsteps upon the stone platforms that lined the edges of the pool, and then by the sound of crunching grass the footsteps moved off the path towards her tent. The footsteps stopped, and though she could not see who they had belonged to Lia could hear two people having a whispered discussion outside of her tent. All she could hear were murmurs, none of the words discernible to her, but the two participants seemed to be arguing in short hushed snippets.

The voices carried on for a few more minutes and Lia lost interest in them, instead returning to her thoughts. She considered the magnitude of the endeavor that they would undergo. No one had ever managed to escape from the Gomorrah, at least not for long. The family had many, many contacts throughout the entire New Vegas area and any attempts to make a life for one's self in Freeside or the neighboring Westside and North Vegas Square would be found out quickly and ended just as swift.

The calm feelings she'd felt until this point were quickly dissolving as Lia considered the consequences of what she was about to attempt. Never before in the Omerta's history had a contracted worker managed to run out on their deal; with agents all over New Vegas, the family was well connected and knew the goings on of the Mojave better than most. Lia had heard many horror stories of those whose attempts had ended in failure. Most runaways lasted a week, maybe a month at most, and many never even managed to leave the hotel—being gunned down on the casino floor mid-flight!

These thoughts were pushed to the side when she heard the footsteps continue towards her tent. A man's hand poked through and parted the curtains letting a small amount of light to stream into the otherwise dark tent. His face was mostly concealed by the influx of light, but the one facial feature Lia did manage to glimpse sent a bolt of fear straight through her—a bushy mustache.

Lia let out a yelp and jumped backwards, reaching for her performers chains. Too late she remembered that they were packed in her bag, which was at the end of her bed in front of the intruder. Surprised by her sudden motion the man reached down to his hip and, in the blink of an eye, drew a large .44 magnum six-shot revolver from its leather holster. He held his fire, but kept the weapon trained on Lia, nerves obviously on end.

His partner, a small woman, rushed into the room and grabbed the gun forcing it down to a non-threatening position. In the soft glow emanating from the small electronic lantern she carried Lia recognized her as Joanna. Joanna gave the man, who Lia saw to not be Troike as she had originally feared a look of incredulity. He sheepishly shook his head and holstered the weapon, then turned and took a position as a sentry at the door while the women conversed. Joanna's soft features wore a stressed look that told Lia all she needed to know about the urgency of the situation.

"Are you ready?" Joanna asked him in an urgent whisper.

"My bag is right there, do we leave now?" Lia responded, pointing to her bag. She made an effort to suppress all the questions she had involving the details of the plan, though they yearned to be answered.

"No." Joanna rebutted her, with a glance at the bag. "It's too dangerous. This whole thing is going to be a close enough call as it is." Lia had half expected her to say something along those lines, but was none the less disappointed to find her suspicions had been correct. The loss of her clothes wasn't as big a deal to her as the loss of her performance kit, after all there were enough old world clothes lying around the wastelands to find.

"I was afraid that might be the case." Lia answered her, disappointed but understanding. "So what now?"

"You go with Clanden here up to his suite until we know Big Sal, Nero, and Cochino are preoccupied with the Brimstone." Joanna explained, gesturing to the man standing in the doorway of the tent as she said his name. "Then, when I give him the signal you two just walk out the casino doors like everything is normal."

"That's it?"

"That's it." Clanden suddenly turned and tapped Joanna on the shoulder. She leaned back and he whispered something inaudible to Lia in her ear and turned back to his guard duty. Joanna turned towards Lia and conveyed to her what the man had just said. "He says the guards are changing shifts now, so you need to go. Stay quiet and keep your head down until you get upstairs and everything will be fine. Good luck!"

Joanna gave her a smile and left the tent to perform her role in the plan in the Brimstone, leaving Lia alone with Clanden. Though the goodbye had appeared to be friendly there was something about the manner in which Joanna had spoken to her that made Lia uneasy; Joanna seemed aloof, as if reading from a script. Lia shook her head and told herself it was her imagination. Besides, she had to concentrate on one thing at a time, so with that in mind she followed Clanden out into the night.

It was dark in the basement of the Gomorrah. Below the feet of gamblers, hookers, and gangsters alike an unkempt man stooped over a large metal crate. From the pockets of his dirt encrusted pants he pulled a small brown plastic bag. Ripping open the seal he opened the sack to reveal a fine brown powder inside. With a nervous look towards the single door to the medium sized room he tipped the bag over and spilled its contents evenly along the top of the crate in an even blanketing.

The man repeated the strange process again for each of the 5-6 identical crates that were littered throughout the basement. He pulled another bag out of his seemingly endless supply of the substance and drew lines connecting the piles along the floor. The branches all converged into one in a pile near the basement door.

He pushed a button and the door slid open allowing light from connecting hallway to enter. In the fluorescent light his face was illuminated and bore an expression of determination. He was confident in this plan, and he had faith in his partner. After all, if even half the stories he'd heard were true, David Young always seemed to find a way to accomplish what he set out to do. Troike reached into his pocket one last time to procure an assortment of items. The first was a wick from a stick of dynamite, the second a matchbook and the third a vial of Med-X. He immediately injected himself with the drug, just in case this goes wrong he told himself.

Discarding the empty vial onto the pile of powder Troike stuck in the wick and struck a match. When he touched the flaming end of the match to the black powder infused fabric sparks shot from the point of contact, singing his hand, in a violent display of energy. Troike jumped to his feet and immediately shut the basement door. Just before the heavy metal blast door closed he saw a brilliant white flash illuminate the room, indicating that he'd been successful. The Omerta's gun running scheme would be set back a good bit now, perhaps indefinitely, all thanks to him and his thermite.

Feelings of pride, that he'd not felt in years, welled up in him, and he turned to make his report to the courier who'd freed him. Unfortunately for Troike he turned only to see the barrel of a 10mm machinegun pointed directly at his face.

The journey of Clanden and Lia was a much less eventful, yet more successful venture. Late as it was, the Brimstone was packed full of NCR Trooper, Gamblers, and Omerta's all full of alcohol and chems ready to fuck or fight whatever was in front of them, and for many of the patrons, such was their state of mind, the choice between the options was a tossup. Clanden, while not a member of the family, had seen enough nights like this to know exactly how to make his way through such a crowd, and with Lia in tow expertly navigated the throngs of guests effortlessly.

The elevator that they would take to the suites level was small and drab, meant as a service elevator originally, and served as the Family's private express lift. The ride to the top floor was a long one so Lia decided to attempt to get to know the man helping to save her life.

"Thanks for helping me" She said, attempting to catch his eyes. Clanden acknowledged her thanks with a nod and kept his eyes forward, his gaze boring a hole into the elevator wall. He turned to face her but his eyes seemed unable to look at her, as if a magnetic force were repelling them.

"It is my pleasure." He said in a choked voice. His voice was strained, like he was holding back some sort of pain that required nearly all of his energy to control. "I always try to help those that I can."

Lia grew uncomfortable; the demeanor of the man was unsettling and was not helped in the least by the bland interior of the elevator. The walls appeared to have lost their wallpaper decades ago, the residue of the glue still present upon them. A single light bulb lite the compartment, but it was set high in its socket, greatly shortening the radius of its glow.

Thankfully the elevator stopped and Lia and Clanden swiftly disembarked. The suite level looked much like the rest of the Gomorrah, with yellow wallpaper and ornate trim above the worn red velvet carpet.

Clanden lead Lia around the corner to a short hallway. At the end of the corridor was a set of double doors. An alcove containing a smaller black door was set closer to the elevators on the right side of the hallway, but Clanden ignored it. The double doors stood wide open as they approached, the sight of which caused Clanden to freeze up.

"Wait here" He whispered curtly then hurried into the room. Lia did as he asked and stood in the small alcove by the other door. She didn't have long to wait until he came bounding down the stairs a key already in his hand.

"What was that all about?"

"No questions; just get in here!"

Clanden opened the door and pushed her into the room. He quickly swung the door shut behind them and with a loud _clunk_ set the deadbolt. The sigh of relief he exhaled was the first sign of any sort of emotion Lia had seen out of the man, and it caught he by surprise.

"Is everything all right?"

"Absolutely, everything is going just fine." He responded, a grin now on his face.

Content with his answer Lia looked around the room. The first thing she noticed was the long black workbench in the center of the room, the second thing she noticed was the camera in the corner of the room, but it was the thing she didn't notice—Clanden's fist—that connected with the side of her head and left her unconscious.

Lia woke slowly. Her head was throbbing with a dull ache and her vision was fuzzy. As her sight slowly returned she realized that she was staring up at the ceiling of the small room. Attempts to sit up were met with failure, due to the straps that bound her wrists and ankles. The straps were connected to chains that were anchored to the table by mechanics Lia neither knew nor cared to. She began to panic and look all around the room. Against the wall the camera was set up; a red light signaling that it was recording. Behind her she heard the sound of someone standing, but couldn't turn her head to see them.

Clanden stepped into her view wearing the same outfit as he had in the video she'd seen before. Thoughts raced through Lia's mind swiftly as he approached her, a medical scalpel in his hand. How many times had he done this? Why did Joanna send her with him? Did she know?

The questions ceased when the cold metal touched her skin, replaced by a primal urge to run, to flee to anywhere but this place. Clanden's eyes were filled with glee as he scraped the blade along her body. The dress that Joanna had given to her was gone, and she lay on the table arms and legs out stretched in nothing but her bra and panties. The smooth motions of the cold metal raised Goosebumps across Lia's body as if the hair were attempting to flee just as Lia herself. Clanden dragged the surgical tool up her leg and brought it to rest briefly at her stomach.

His eyes were no longer avoiding hers, and in them she saw the cold indifference to her fear and hunger for something more. Clanden raised the scalpel high above his head and grasped the handle like a dagger. Just as it reached the apex of its arc a loud _clunk_ followed by the sound of the door swinging open interrupted his motion.

A young man not much older than Lia stepped through the door followed by an older woman dressed in a large brown robe sporting a large metal glove. The man had wavy blonde hair that flowed over his ears, but stopped short of his collar. He wore a brown gamblers jacket, fitted perfectly to his frame. His arm was extended and in his hand was a large pistol with a brown handle and short stocky muzzle. Extending from the nose of the gun was a long suppressor that gave the weapon an even more menacing look.

Without a seconds hesitation the strange figure squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession eliciting three thuds as the suppressor masked most but not all of the sound made by the large metal projectiles. Two of his shots went wide and smashed large chunks of the wall from existence, the third however grazed Clanden's shoulder spinning him around. Hurt, but not fatally the man reached for the revolver on his hip. Quick as his draw was it did not come in time.

At the same time the man had let loose his bullets the woman with him ran around the bench. By the time Clanden's revolver was clearing its holster she was already halfway into the most devastating punch Lia ever hoped to see.

The metal glove was much more than a heavy cudgel. Pneumatic propulsion hydraulics forced the titanium fist straight through the chest of the unarmored Clanden. With a dull thud his body fell to the ground, never again to rise.

Unfazed by the carnage the young her partner turned to Lia and spoke.

"Hotel's under new management, had to downsize I'm sure you understand."

**July 1****st**** 2283 **

Lia lay down next to the smoldering embers of her dyeing fire. That night, by the gun of a curious courier and fist of a scribe, was both the best and worst night of her life. It was the night she'd been given a chance to begin again. She lay in silence listening as her radio played until she fell asleep, safe from the troubles of Vegas.


	7. A Suit of No Colors

**Chapter 7: A Suit of No Colors**

**12:00 PM July 5****th****, 2283**

The sound of metal on steel rang out and echoed around the narrow elevator shaft as Neu rode it to the surface. The racket made by the centuries old contraction was alarming, but it seemed stable, which calmed Neu a bit. He stood in the center of the elevator and thought about the previous day and the surprises it had held, and about the future and what it would hold for him.

**1:00 PM July 4****th****, 2283**

Five hours had passed since Neu felt his heart rip itself leaving him in a near comatose state on the ground of the small room where he had awaken. In that time he thought about everything that happened, about the war, his family, and his country. Tears streamed down his face silently until he could cry no more, then just as suddenly as the feelings of despair had come they vanished. His anguish was replaced by a cold numbness that, while not comforting, was a welcome change from the pain of loss.

In his new found clarity there existed only one idea, thought to call it an idea would be to overstate it. The singular concept that Neu focused on was survival. With that in mind he picked himself up from the fetal position he was in and walked over to the door next to the computer. As he approached the door slid open with a _hss_ and he stepped over the threshold into a dark hallway. Slowly fluorescent light strips built into the floor and ceiling lit up the corridor. The walkway was narrow and short, measuring roughly four yards wide by ten yards long, and featured several shelves on the left side. Opposite these shelves, which looked to host enough weaponry to liberate a small country, was a metal bench. At the end of the bench closest to Neu was a floor-to-ceiling locker, and at the opposite end of the hall was a curious sight. Sitting at the end of the hall was a tiny elevator, the kind of wall less contraption that one would expect to see in a mine of some sort.

Forgoing the weapons and elevator Neu turned his attention to the locker next him. In the spot where one might expect a padlock this locker featured instead a spall blue screen that glowed with a cold icy light. He wasn't surprised at the sight—after all this was standard procedure for locks back at the military base Neu had been stationed at before his current deployment. So he confidently pressed his hand against the screen and held it there. The pad emitted a pulse of the same blue light and a beep sounded acknowledging his handprint as correct. Neu smiled to himself, glad for some familiarity in such a strange place. With a _clunk_ the lock disengaged and the door swung itself open powered by a hydraulic arm.

The inside of the metal storage unit was illuminated by a soft white light that emanated light bulbs in the ceiling and walls of the locker. Bathed in the light was a suit of armor that Neu had never before seen or worn. The light seemed to disappear into the steely-gray color of the suit. Neu reached out and touched it and was surprised by how smooth the texture was, yet it held up to a light tug at first and then a stronger one after that. The fabric, which he guessed was made of some high-tech polymer, simply stretched as he tried to pull it apart.

However this fabric did not make up the entire suit; the shins and forearms were covered in some metal that had the same appearance as the fabric and shared its light swallowing properties. In addition more protection was offered in the form of sections of Kevlar padding that covered the chest, stomach, thighs, hips, and a V-Shaped section of the back that would protect the shoulder blades of the wearer.

A large belt made of what seemed to be a thicker version of the original polymer wrapped around the waist of the suit, concluding in a metal buckle. The collar and neck protection shared this thicker fabric, so Neu assumed that is was fairly strong stuff.

However, what really stood out to Neu about the armor were not the protective areas, but the wires and metal pads attached to it. Just above where his Solar Plexus would be was a square metal frame with a row of buttons on the bottom. Protruding from the top of the frame were two wires that wrapped around either side of the neck and connected to two metal plates that were connected to a single flat metal plate each. These plates rested on the tops of the Kevlar V near the top of the suit's back. The plates in question were both connected to receiving ports in the belt by shorter thicker wires.

A third pair of wires rose from the plates and snaked over the shoulders and down the sides of the suit to the hips and eventually the knees. At the hips and knees the wires were met with identical metal boxes, which featured red circular diodes. Similar diode boxes were found on the back of each gloved hand, with wires that disappeared into the metal armguards connecting them to the rest of the suit hardware.

Neu looked over the suit in disbelief, he knew what it was. It was a state of the art Stealth Infiltrator Suit, but when he was deployed they were only rumored to have prototypes in existence. As he looked the suit up and down something at the bottom of the locker caught his eye. Lying on the floor was a small red book. Neu reached down and grabbed it only to find it to be covered in a thick layer of dust.

He carefully brushed the dust off of the cover to avoid damaging the century old tome. The cover was illustrated with a Chinese soldier saluting a five-pointed star high above him, and words were imposed over the scene in Chinese characters. The title of the book was Chinese Army: Special Ops Training Manual. The rest of Neu's afternoon was spent flipping through the manual learning as much as possible from its contents.

The most important knowledge he gained from the book came on the last pages, where he found illustrated instructions on how to put the suit on correctly. Neu was relieved to see the instructions as he had yet to find anyway to actually wear the suit.

An hour or so and fifteen or so illustrations latter Neu stood in front of the locker wearing the suit. The material was extremely lightweight and surprisingly comfortable, which was good as taking it off and putting it back on was quite a production. Even the metal in the arm and shin guards seemed to be made of some lightweight alloy and nothing about the armor felt at all constrictive. When Neu returned to put the book back into its place he saw the helmet of the suit hanging in the back of the locker.

"Of course." He said out loud to himself. "Why wouldn't there be a helmet?"

Made of the same material as the suit the helmet featured a metal jawline and a diode sunk into the back of the skull. The faceplate was made of bullet proof glass which was layered, on the inside, in a gold foil. To Neu's relief the helmet simply slipped right on his head and clipped in to the collar of the suit. The foil was translucent and gave everything a gold tint.

Almost as soon as the helmet was over his head words flashed on to the foil 'Insert Stealth Boy'. Unfazed Neu searched the locker until he found what he was looking for—a small square devise that emitted a light bending "stealth field" that made whoever was in the field nearly invisible. In the field tests they had been given the name stealth boy's for some reason and it had stuck. Neu took the Stealth Boy and inserted it into the center of the small chest frame, just as the manual had illustrated, and it clipped into place. More words popped up onto his HUD—'Stealth Field Enabled. Press 1 to Activate'. Neu did just that and watched as his body disappeared. A bar appeared in the corner of his HUD showing the remaining power of the Stealth Boy; At the moment it was at 100% and if what he was told was correct would remain active for 5-6 hours of continual use. This was the true magic of the suit, transforming a 2-5 minute field into one that lasted hours. With silent thanks to the programmers and technicians that had worked on the armor Neu powered down the stealth field.

His stomach gave a rumble and he felt hunger pangs in his gut for the first time since…well he didn't even know. A quick search of the shelves yielded a dinner of freeze-dried fruits, several water bottles and 4 boxes of century old crackers. He sighed and sat down to a disappointing dinner during which he weighed his options. Before sitting down to eat he's checked the clock on the computer, which had told him it was 10pm. Fatigue gripped him and he decided that he could spend one more night underground. He was surprised at how exhausted he was, but when he laid his head down sleep gripped him instantly.

**8:00 AM July 5****th****, 2283**

Neu woke the next day and immediately began to make preparations. After a quick breakfast of the remainder of the dried fruit and the rest of his unfinished water from the night before he threw the rest of his rations in a backpack that was sitting under the weapon selves. His next move was to pack up a few sets of travelers clothes he found folded up in the back up the locker along with the remaining 4 Stealth Boys.

Next he moved over to the Weapon rack; though he didn't want to be weighed down too heavily he had no idea what was outside and wanted to be prepared for the worst, not that he could imagine what that would be. So he settled on an M16 Carbine assault rifle and a couple hundred 5.56mm rounds, a 9mm Berretta handgun and a few dozen rounds, and four Frag Grenades. He briefly flirted with the idea of bringing a katana with him as well, but decided it was too much of a hassle to deal with and opted for a much more portable Combat Knife.

By the time he was finished with his packing it was almost noon. Neu slipped on his helmet and took one last look around the room were his world had crashed around him and lifted the entrance bar and stepped into the elevator.

The noise inside the elevator shaft seemed deafening to Neu, surely anyone on the surface would hear this racket of metal on rock and be waiting for him. Images of himself immerging into the huge cave of the Big MT surrounded by a squad of American soldiers filled his head. He swiftly banished these thoughts as he reassured himself that no one could have survived a full scale nuclear bombardment from the Chinese Army.

His fears were extinguished when the elevator stopped with a jolt as it locked into place. The small light hanging from the ceiling of the elevator illuminated the mouth of a tunnel, which disappeared into the dark. Neu wasted no time turning on the night vision sight in his helmet, another of its useful tools, which bathed everything in a sickly green tinge. The light above him had become blindingly bright so Neu set off quickly into the passageway. The tunnel was confined and the path uneven, but his motion sensors detected no other movement in the cave so Neu quickened his pace, his curiosity taking over. After a dozen or so turns and a half hour of walking the empty, lifeless path Neu finally came to a large metal door. Next to it was a panel with two buttons which read open and close. Excited he pressed the open button and the door slid open with remarkable speed.

Neu's first sight of the Big MT was a blast of light that overwhelmed his helmet sensor's and burned his retinas. A fitting welcoming gift from the wastelands.


	8. Summon Monsters

**Chp 8: Summon Monsters**

**June 25****th****, 2283**

A week had passed since the Fiend incident in the steel mill. Jim tried to avoid the thoughts that had plagued him that night, and with all the down time they were faced with this proved to be a difficult task.

The past week had seen 1st Recon hole themselves up in the abandoned mill, patiently biding their time. As one might expect an entire group of Fiends going missing had not gone without notice by their brethren, so Gorobets had made a tactical decision to lay low until the fervor died down.

This decision was not met with universal popularity, and the most vocal of the detractors was definitely Corporal Betsy. Jim suspected she was getting a bit stir crazy; they all were to a degree, though the other members of the group seemed to give her more leeway than he thought necessary. However he did remember his last encounter with her in which he'd received a violent and vulgar lesson about bed ownership.

The feelings came to a head four days into their stay when Betsy and Gorobets ended a discussion in a rather volatile manner. Jim walked into the top room looking for 10 of Spades when he walked in on the two having a heated talk about their next movement.

"This is Bullshit and you know it!" Jim heard her complain to the commanding officer. "We're fucking first recon, not some bunch of scrubs just plucked off a farm somewhere. Why the hell are we cowering in the rafters of some steel mill when this asshole is still alive? We need to be hunting his vermin ass down like the filthy animal he is!"

"Betsy, I understand your feeling on the matter, and I promise you I want Nephi taken care of just as much as you do." He replied in a surprisingly calm manner in the face of the tornado of anger that was Corporal Betsy. "However, I have made my decision and you WILL respect it." The look he'd given her had left nothing ambiguous and even Betsy would not dare to disobey him. Instead she took off and stormed down the hall in frustrated silence.

Jim's time, when he wasn't on watch, had largely been spent disposing of the fiend corpses that scattered the mill floor. Working alongside him, as he hauled the bodies to the furnace for an improvised cremation, was 10 of Spades. The two talked quite a bit during that week. What Jim found was that his fellow soldier was not that much different than himself. They had both grown up on a ranch, Jim in Shady Sands and T.O.S. just outside of Vegas. By the end of their stay in the mill they had grown into what passed for friends in the wasteland.

After dinner on their last night in the mill Lieutenant Gorobets called an official meeting in the upper room. He dismissed the grumbling about cramped space with a shrug and stood before his five soldiers, all of whom were in different states of attention. Bitter-Root was as professionally as always, sitting straight up in rapt attention. Corporal Sterling seemed to be preoccupied by a large sheet of paper, and Betsy was leaned back against the far wall eyes closed and clearly not at all engaged in anything going on around her. Jim's attention shifted back to the Lieutenant when he gave a loud throat clearing.

"As some of you have been kind enough to bring to my attention, we have a mission to complete out here in this shithole." Gorobets began, giving Betsy an annoyed look. She looked up and gave him a thumb up saying something along the lines of 'no problem'. "Be that as it may, we have held our position for tactical purposes. However, the time has clearly come to move on and so we will tomorrow at first light. Corporal Sterling, if you would be so kind to tell us how we will proceed." He said gesturing to the old ranger.

"Of course Sir." Sterling responded, walking over to the doorway. On the wall next to him was an ancient bulletin board to which he pinned a large map of their surrounding area. "Gorobets and I have spent the past week preparing this route from old maps in the office downstairs, and this looks to be the best route we can take." He said pointing to a red line on the paper. The line snaked in between various squares on the map that Jim assumed represented buildings or, at the very least, the remains of those buildings. The route was far from direct and even backtracked itself a few times prompting mutterings from Betsy in the back of the room. If he heard the grumblings Sterling did not show it and moved right into his plan for their travel. "This area that I've circled over hear is five hundred yards west of our current position, and is known as around here as "South Vegas". We want nothing to do with that hellhole. Inside the walls of that fortification are enough fiends to give a full battalion of NCR Heavy Troopers pause, and they're armed with enough laser weaponry to make the Brotherhood jealous. So, my route has us back tracking a just a little to avoid any troops coming from or going to the place. Once clear we will proceed to this area here." Sterling explained pointing to a green square that he had drawn on the map. "Here we will meet up with Young's contact and put the final touches on our assault plan of Nephi, who is holed up to the west."

"Thank you Sterling that will be all." Gorobets said standing up at the front again. Sterling gave him a quick nod and after retrieving his map he sat back down to listen to the Commanding Officer's orders. "Well, I don't have much else to say to you all. We leave at 0600 hours so get some sleep, all of you. Private Trotter will take first watch and Private Spades I want you to take over the second shift at 0200 hours. Everyone else get some sleep. "With their orders in place everyone got up and shambled out of the cramped control booth, some to their sleeping mats to sleep, others to prepare their weapons and pack their gear for the next day.

Jim headed over to his pack and retrieved his .357 revolver from its resting place and holstered the weapon on his way out of the mill door. The night was still young, only around 1900 hours as Gorobets would way, but the sun had already fallen behind the western mountains leaving only the light of the moon as a guide for anyone wandering the ruins of sin city. Still the light from the full moon was enough to make Jim nervous, so he settled into a dark nook on the western side of the building where he was hidden from the eyes of any wandering Fiends.

An hour passed uneventfully before Jim saw any signs of life, which was typical of the Fiends. Many of them slept through the day and would not awaken until the late hours of night, when they would go on raids. Perhaps word had returned to the Fiends that the Mill was an area to be avoided, though Jim doubted that a small NCR presence would scare off many of the crazies for long, but ever since the first day few Fiends ventured near the abandoned structure.

So it was much to Jim's surprise when two men, one wearing a Brahmin skull helmet, the other bearing the skull of a bighorner, ventured within 500 feet of his position. Jim slowly drew his weapon from its holster, careful not to make a sound or move out of his cover of darkness. Suddenly the one in the Brahmin skull helmet stopped and grabbed the arm of his partner, halting his progress as well. The ruins were quiet tonight, and a soft wind carried their whispered conversation to Jim.

"Fuck man we gotta get outa this place, its bad."

"Shit, its just an old building, you've been fucking with those damn glowing chems again haven't you."

"Fuck no I don't touch that shit, you know that! But I heard some scary shit about that place, ain't bout no ghost or nothing neither."

"What you talkin bout, NCR? Cause I love fuckin them bastards right the fuck up."

"No, I ain't scared of no NCR assholes, I heard Young's got bots in that place though, people been seeing the smiley face one that done killed Violet and her whole gang a mutts."

"You serious? Fuck that, I'm out."

Just like that the two departed leaving Jim thankful for whoever the "Smiley Faced robot" was that had put such a fear into the fiends. He vaguely recalled hearing something about David Young having used robots to betray the NCR at Hoover Damn, but had been out West when the battle had occurred and only could go by what rumors said. His muscles were burning from holding a crouch for so long, so he eventually fell into a seated position and continued his shift, though the pistol stayed in his hand.

Two hours later as he was reaching the tail end of his shift Jim heard a noise coming from around the corner of the building near the northern entrance. Fearing that the two Fiends may have returned in a fit of chemically enhanced bravery Jim tightened his grip on the gun in his hand a cocked back the hammer. Sliding along the wall he listened and could clearly make out the sound of at least one person shuffling their feet on the gravel around the entrance.

After gathering his courage Jim took a deep breath and spun around the corner, pistol extended in front of him, ready to fight. Luckily for him no fight was incoming. In place of the Fiends he'd spotted earlier Betsy instead stood in front of the steps an unlit cigarette in her mouth. She seemed undisturbed by his sudden entrance and shrugged her shoulder while giving him a look that said 'Really?' He sheepishly holstered the weapon and walked over to where she was now sitting and calmly smoking. Though so far he'd not managed to get far in his efforts to have at least a civil conversation that didn't end in her threatening him or handing out condescending nicknames Jim felt compelled to try yet again. After all he did want to be on at least decent terms with someone he'd be going into battle with.

"You know those things will kill you?" He said half joking. She surprisingly gave him a very slight smile and continued to smoke.

"Well now Private Cowboy, you don't fucking say?" She responded; predictably dry, though her voice lacked the venom that it usually had. Perhaps her mood was improved by the prospect of moving on the next day he thought. "I ain't a doctor, but I can damn sure promise you that there are about a thousand things in this God forsaken wasteland that'll kill you faster than a few smokes. So I plan to enjoy what I can and take as much of the other shit down with me when I go."

"Interesting philosophy you have there." He said, measuring his words as to avoid setting her out of this non-confrontational mood she was in. "I suppose there's some truth to that."

"Damn sure is, I'm not much of one for any philosophies though. I'd rather let my gun do my talkin and save by breathe for huntin down the scum that infests this place." She responded, moving her hand about to indicate she meant the ruins.

"Fair enough, I suppose I'm just too new to the Mojave, I just can't seem to muster up that kind of hate for the fiends." Betsy was silent in response to this and turned her face away from him toward the direction of the South Vegas ruins. The silence made Jim uncomfortable so he attempted to coax more out of her by expanding on his statement. "I don't know, I just feel sorry for these people sometimes, to live in such filth, and to ne—"

Whatever he was going to say next was abruptly cut off by a sudden move by Betsy to pin his shoulders to the ground. His head his the cement, not hard enough to knock him out but enough to daze him, and the woman leaned over him, her knee burying its way into his solar plexus. Her eyes were cold and reflected red in the light of her still burning cigarette. Betsy's face was pulled taught and her fists were shaking with rage. For the first time, Jim was legitimately scared of what she might do. Back at camp she'd acted tough, but it now appeared she may actually cause him physical harm. She leaned in, her face close to his, cigarette now discarded.

"Don't. You. EVER. Pity. Those. Filthy Fucking ANIMALS!" She said, annunciating every word with hate. "Do you want to hear a story Private Cowboy? Once upon a fucking time I felt similar to you, but then I was given a special mission. I was to kill a Fiend named Cook-Cook, and I thought he could be reasoned with." She let out a laugh that held no humor. "And do you know where that got me? On my back, being raped by the bastard and half of his fucking gang! And oh it gets better, don't you worry about that, had 10 of Spades not recovered in time they would have cooked me alive and eaten me. The Fiends are fucking animals and they deserve to be put down it the most brutal manner possible! Don't you ever forget it!" As she spoke the anger slowly began to fade and a distant look entered her eyes. By the end of her speech Betsy seemed to have retreated back somewhere into the depths of her own mind, reliving memories that she'd repressed for years.

The pressure on Jim's chest subsided and Betsy began to sway on her feet. Reacting quickly Jim caught the woman as she fell and lowered her to the stoop. There she curled up into a fetal position, rocking back and forth silent tears coursing down her face. Her hands were clutched tightly to her chest. Jim was at a loss for words this being the last thing that he would have guess that would happen to him that night. He awkwardly gave her a pat on the back and found that she was trembling.

He left his hand on her shoulder, to give her some semblance of stability and surprisingly she did not reject the gesture. They sat in silence for a few moments under the starless sky, only the moon shining its borrowed light upon them. After a few moments he managed to get her into a seated position, where after she latched onto his arm. Jim was again surprised by such an action, but upon a second glance into her eyes he could tell she was not with him mentally. No she was still buried in her memories, with terror spelled out across her face.

For the next hour the two of them sat like that, Jim keeping watch and Betsy reliving the horrors of captivity. As his shift began to draw to an end the Corporal finally showed signs of cognizance. Her eyes were blood-shot, but very much returned to the present. His arm was released from her viselike grip, and she attempted to stand. For the second time that night Jim was forced to arrest her progress least she smash her face on the rocky ground. With a sigh he threw her arm over his shoulder and helped her stumble through the door.

10 of spades was waiting inside for his shift to start and threw Jim a confused look as the two made their way into the room. Jim simply shook his head and mouthed 'later' and kept going. As 10 of Spades took his place outside Jim and Betsy blundered their way across the mill floor, barely avoiding tripping over the steel beams and rivets that littered the ground. Eventually they made it to Betsy's NCR issue sleeping bag and Jim laid her down as gently as he could. She grabbed his arm again, this time fully aware of her actions, and dragged him down closer to her level.

"If you tell anyone what just happened…I will end you." She threatened no convincingly.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." He said to appease her. "And about Cook-Cook..."

"What about him?" She said, her voice harsh, but weak.

"We'll get the bastard, even if we have to hunt him down ourselves." He promised

"Thanks." Was here final word to him before falling into a deep and hopefully troubleless sleep.

Jim returned to his own sleeping bag, confident that the night's events would award him no sleep. To his surprise he joined Betsy in state the second his head touched the ground.


	9. Messages from the Unknown

**Author's Note**

I've decided to continue from this a bit differently from here on out. Instead of posting shorter chapter about one character I'll be writing smaller entries about two of them with the bulk of the chapter focused on the other. Plus whatever other side stories i might need to tell. Let me know what you think of the change as well as how the story has gone so far.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Messages from the Unknown<strong>

**July 2nd, 2283 6:00 AM**

**Crescent Canyon**

Lia awoke suddenly, brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps nearby. Red's training was still serving her well out here in the wastes. To the south the first rays of light were inching slowly over the jagged mountain peaks. Hawk-like eyes, another of Red's gifts to her, scanned the area for the source of her disturbance.

She didn't have long to search before spotting the culprit. Some 20 odd yards away was a gecko, though not one of the usual sorts she was accustomed to seeing. Its molt was unlike that of a typical, pale purple skinned, gecko and neither was it similar to that of the much more dangerous and darker skinned fire geckos that terrorized anyone stupid enough to enter their domain. Instead this reptilian aberration was covered in bright gold scales, and stared at her with blood red eyes.

Lia slowly, but deliberately, reached for her shotgun. The gecko continued to stare at her from afar as she inspected the weapon to make sure it was loaded. Satisfied she chambered a solid lead slug and locked it in place. She wasn't overly worried, it was a small gecko that didn't stand quite as tall as her waist, but it was better to play things safe than to be sorry latter.

The gecko reacted quite violently to the final click of her gun and let out a shrill screech that stung Lia's ears. From the deep in the canyon a much deeper roar responded and Lia began to grow worried. She aimed down the sights towards the small creature which responded by curling up as if trying to play dead. Lia laughed a bit at its foolish antic, but was abruptly silenced when the ground near the edge of the cliff where the small gecko stood crumbled and a large gold blur catapulted out of the canyon in the wake of the falling debris.

Lia stumbled back a few yards away from both the gecko and the cliff's edge. Standing in front of the smaller creature was a much larger variant, its eyes focused on her and its claws extended.

With another roar the beast shook its head and charged forward at Lia, fangs bared, ready to strike. Lia stayed calm and tightened her grip on the trigger, casually flipping off the safety and aiming down the barrel of the long hunting weapon. When her attacker closed the distance to ten yards she squeezed out a single shot and quickly re-chambered the weapon.

The recoil from the blast of the gun threw off her shot a bit and the slug buried itself into the creature's right shoulder. The force of the impact sprung the golden gecko around towards the edge of the cliff, a shower of bright greenish-yellow blood exploded out from the would amongst fragments of what had been the beast's shoulder bones.

The gecko cried out in pain and anger, the almost certainly fatal wound triggering a primal rage yet untapped. From the direction of her pack Lia heard a different, much different sound. It was a mechanical click, no crackling—a Geiger counter. The blood of this gecko must contain high amounts of radiation, Lia thought. The wasteland never ceased to surprise her.

The gecko somehow managed to regain its footing at the very edge of the cliff and reared up, preparing for another attack. Lia didn't give it that opportunity; she took in a deep breath and released the air in her lungs as she pulled the trigger. This time her aim was true—the lead slug exploded from the barrel with a mighty blast and buried itself in the chest of the gigantic reptile. More of the fluorescent blood exploded from the irradiated beast as it was pushed from the ledge by the tremendous force of the bullet, dead before it hit the ground.

Lia turned back towards the first gecko, only to see its golden hide retreat down the side of the canyon. Relieved that she seemed to have won that morning's battle she returned her gun to its case and slung it over her shoulder along with her survival kit. With one look over the canyon edge the high she was on dissipated instantly. Below was a group, at least fifteen strong, of the golden geckos gathered around the remains of the one she'd fought. Some were small like the one that got away from her, but others appeared to be twice the size of the now deceased.

Lia had hopped she could climb down the canyon and back up the other side, but now it seemed she would have to find an alternate route. With a sigh she turned away and left the cannibalistic creatures to their meal and continued her journey east.

* * *

><p><strong>July 5th, 2283 9:00 PM<strong>

**Little Yangtze Internment Camp**

Neu sat in silence, his head cradled in his hands, in the watchtower of Little Yangtze. The room was a small square area containing a vast assortment of electronics. Neu was seated at what he assumed was a former officer's desk, in front of which a skeleton lay on the ground with a black collar around its neck. On the walls a variety of communication devices hung, though many were missing parts and had wires poking out from their innards.

As he calculated out his next move Neu's hands wandered without purpose over the desk. One hand brushed the keyboard of an ancient computer terminal and much to his surprised it flickered to life, giving off an eerie but familiar green glow. Intrigued Neu moved the chair in front of the screen and began to read.

The words were written in English, but fortunately knowledge of many languages was part of a soldier of Neu's caliber's list of required skills. The screen showed seven entries that were available. The first three appeared to be from before the Great War, while the final four logs were much more recent.

Neu began to read the old entries first, hoping to gain a sense of what had gone on at this facility. The logs were the journal of whatever United States officer had been in command of the camp and documented the arrival, abuse and subsequent escape efforts of a large amount of Chinese soldiers. Anger welled up in Neu briefly before his rational mind took over and concluded that the men whom had committed these atrocities were dead, likely having died over a century ago. The idea that these men, who were once his peers, could have died so long ago while he was, still for all intents and purposes a man in the prime of his life was a bit unnerving.

"I'm like a ghost of a long dead past." He said out loud to himself, chuckling darkly as he did so. The moment passed and Neu returned himself to pursuing the remaining entries. These entries were much more recent, dated 2281, and chronicled the activities of a man named Elijah.

Elijah it seemed had come to the camp in search of something, but what that thing was, was not clear to Neu. There were several mentions of someone Elijah called "The Courier" and a place called "The Sierra Madre". Mentions of a toxic gas peaked Neu's interest, though not nearly as much as the local robots the logs talked of. As he read through the logs Neu began to truly understand his situation—alone in a hostile environment with no idea where safety was, if it existed at all.

Neu's hands slipped from the keys as he leaned back in the ancient office chair. His anger had dissipated completely now, leaving him feeling drained and numb. As his hands slid along the surface of the desk they felt a grove, or cut, in the wood. Further inspection showed that the cuts extended along the desk in some sort of pattern.

Neu shot upright in the chair and shown a light upon them, desperate for any sort of clue as to what his next move should be. From what he could make out the pattern was a series of letters, perhaps a sentence. A less observant man may have assumed that the cuts were old, but Neu could tell from the crispness of the edges that these markings were fresh. However, much to his disappointment, try as he might he couldn't make out what the words said against the dark stained wood.

Frustrated by how tauntingly close the answer seemed to be Neu reacted in anger and aimed a savage kick at the skull on the skeleton on the floor. Instead of sending the bone flying as he'd intended his kick shattered the skull into a cloud of bone fragments and fine powdery dust.

Without hesitation, and as if this was the intended outcome all along, Neu bent down and scooped up a handful of the dust with his gloved hands and scattered it across the surface of the desk. He blew away the excess and what was left filled in the gashes with off white powder—a stark contrast to the dark brown wood of the desk. Finally the message was revealed.

"Ghosts unlocked the cage and the old man runs free. There is safety where the scorpions beep and diamonds grow like weeds.—U."

* * *

><p><strong>June 26th, 2283 12:00 PM<strong>

**South Vegas**

The sun was high in the sky and brutally hot as First recon approached the Samson Rock Crushing Plant. The trek from the steel mill had taken them roughly six hours, most of the time spent in silence to avoid attracting unwanted attention from the fiends. The land was as desolate as always and surprisingly devoid of fiend activity.

When the soldiers were about a hundred yards from the target Gorobets who was leading the group, held up his first indicating they should hold position. From his pack he pulled a metal remote with two small light bulbs and a single switch on its face. One of the bulbs lit up with a red glow when he flipped the switch.

First Recon stood in silence, waiting for any sort of response. Jim exchanged confused looks with 10 of spades who shrugged his shoulder and nodded towards Betsy while mouthing 'Cook-cook?' Relieved that he wasn't the only one who knew the corporal's story Jim nodded in reply and turned his focus back to the device in Gorobets' hand.

The Lieutenant's face was calm, his eyes scanning the horizon for any traces of trouble, and he seemed devoid of any worries about meeting their contact. Only moments after the red light had turned on it flickered off and the bulb next to lit up with a soft green light. Gorobets gave the troop the all clear sign and they again trudged forward to the plant.

Jim took stock of their position as they advanced. To the west, across a wide open field, were the remains of what had likely once been a towering structure. Pillars of smoke rose from inside, like those of a cooking fire. That must be where Nephi was hiding he thought to himself. To the east of them, not even twenty yards distance, was the I-15. Often called the Long 15, the former motor highway stretched from the heart of the NCR in California in the south all the way up through New Vegas and into Utah, possibly further than that. The road was invaluable to the republic as the main supply line for supplies and troops to reach the Mojave. In fact it was that very road that Jim had traveled weeks earlier to reach Camp McCarran. Here it also served as the unofficial boundary between the civilized lands and the wild and dangerous fiend territories that they now traversed.

First recon again halted, twenty yards away, waiting for their contact. They were facing two buildings constructed of large concrete bricks and painted what may have once been bright white, but had been turned into an off-white shade by the merciless dust storms that occasionally swept through the Mojave. The building appeared to have once been office building, however their doors were now barricaded with large wooden planks and heavy sheets of metal leaned against the sides of their walls showing that no one had used these building in some time.

From further inside the facility five Securitrons rolled out into the gap between the buildings in a V-Formation. The four flanking Securitrons were of standard issue, one wheel, missile silo's serving as shoulders, and two long tube-like arms that connected to three pronged "hands" which contained either a 9mm machine gun or a Laser RCW. On what would be considered their "chests" was a glass computer screen projecting the face of a grizzled soldier, complete with 5 o'clock shadow, an old school trooper helmet and even a burning cigar. The lead Securitron however was different.

Though he shared all of the same main components as his four cohorts instead of a soldier's face the screen on his chest plate showed an unwavering open mouthed smile with upturned cheek lines and tall ovular eyes with black dots for pupils. The whole ensemble creped Jim out more than a little bit, and as the point robot rolled forward by himself Jim found his hand sneaking down to the pistol holstered at his side. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw both 10 of Spades and Betsy follow suit. Lieutenant Gorobets, after many years in the field of battle, knew what their reactions would be and without even so much as a glance backwards gave them a signal to stand down. If the robot was aware of the hostility emanating from the troop of sniper it did not register in his actions.

"Hi there! It's good to meet you!" The Securitron boomed in an obviously manufactured and painfully cheerful tone. "Allow me to introduce myself! I'm a PDQ-88B Securitron, but you can call me Yes Man!"

So this was the contact that David Young had sent them to meet. Jim was a little dismayed that the finest sniper unit in the Mohave, if not the entire NCR, was only seen fit to be greeted by a robotic cast. Surely they deserved more importance than this. If Gorobets was surprised to see a robot instead of a human contact or if he shared any of Jim's feelings of disdain it was a remarkable acting job he did to show neither.

"Mr. Young informed me that you have information regarding Operation Back Nine?" Gorobets asked in a tone that implied a demand rather than request.

"Oh yes, I do indeed! I have all the information you will need to slaughter the whole nasty bunch of them! Isn't that just great?"

"It is quite good news, though I would appreciate if you might contain your enthusiasm for death for as long as we are in co-operation." There was a hint of malice in his voice, but if Yes Man noticed it he again remained unbothered.

"If that's what you want, the absolutely! We've managed to track those awful fiends to those ruins over there." Yes man indicated with one metal hand the exact ruins Jim had guessed early was Nephi's hideaway.

"And what of their numbers and weaponry?"

The conversation between the two leaders continued along this vein for some time, but Jim lost interest. Gorobets would debrief them latter with the important details and he needed to tune out the enthusiastic Securitron before it drove him insane. 10 of Spades seemed to have the same idea and the two privates had a whispered conversation.

"So Betsy told you about Cook-Cook then?"

"Yeah, that's some heavy shit. She said you were there too, what happened?"

"Not one of my better moments. It was my first real mission and she actually chooses me to go with her to get the bastard. But I did a shitty spotting job and that fucker snuck up on us from behind and knocked me out. Shit if I hadn't woken up when I did she'd be dead, me too probably"

10 of Spades looked away from Jim, who could sense he was done talking for the moment. Thankfully Jim found himself spared the awkward moment lingering when Gorobets turned back to the group and motioned for them to follow his lead into the camp.

The Securitrons had already disappeared back into the plant somewhere by the time First Recon made their way through the alley between the two office buildings. The inside of the rock crushing plant was a relic of the old world that served as a reminder of how different the world was now. All around there were large towers, now boarded up and no doubt stripped of any mechanical parts by entrepreneuring salvagers, that had once ground up the large stone brought over from the nearby quarry into gravel for the use in roads. Now they stood like sentries watching over the wastes, their conveyer belts, that once carted the heavy stone to their tops, now bearing a resemblance to as many canes leaned upon by fragile old men.

Jim spent the day organizing his ammunition into magazine cartridges of five .308 rounds each. He'd been assured this would be a quick fight by Gorobets, but in the wasteland nothing was ever as easy as it first appeared. To his surprise when dinner came it was not 10 of Spades, with whom he normally ate meals, but Corporal Betsy that joined him. The two soldiers sat on piles of gravel opposite one another shadowed by large storage silo's that blocked the final rays of the sun as it set behind the western mountains. Betsy went to work preparing a fire for their dinner in silence, while Jim finished cleaning out his hunting rifle and prepared two Brahmin fillets for her to cook.

As their dinner cooked over the flames Betsy stared at Jim intensely through the smoke weighing options. Finally she spoke in a voice that was closer to timid than her usual brash tone.

"Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?" the question was simple, but Jim didn't understand the intent.

"About Cook-Cook. You'll really help me hunt him down?"

"Of course I will. I'm a man who values his word, and besides scum like that deserves nothing but a bullet between the eyes." His answer pleased the normally ill-tempered woman and she gave him a sly smile before continuing.

"Let's do it tonight."

Jim was taken aback by the abruptness of her request.

"Uh, I'm not sure that's a good idea. We can't just go run off after this guy blind into this hellhole." He said gesturing to the entire area as he said hellhole. Betsy's smile faded a bit.

"Well what if I told you I knew where he was and that he was alone and vulnerable?"

"Then I'd say that us not stopping by would be a grave injustice." Jim replied and they both shared a smile. Despite the bad feeling he was getting from this place and mission what Betsy suggested sounded right.

**June 26th, 2283 10:00 PM**

**Samson Rock Crushing Plant**

Darkness fell quickly over the Mojave, and with it brought out many of the waste's more fearsome predators. From his perch in a window of the northern most tower Jim could see Fire Geckos roaming around the base of the mountains, and Cazadores buzzing around higher up near their peaks. His position had been afforded to him by his exemplary climbing ability, something he took great pride in. Nearby on a catwalk connecting his tower to another identical one directly to the east was 10 of Spades. Bitter-Root and Betsy choose to take the lower ground and had hidden themselves within the framework of the storage silo's, damn near invisible to any but the sharpest eyed opposing sniper.

The fiend complex was around 200 yards away across a wide empty field. The field was covered with small hills and valleys, warped by the force of the nuclear explosions that had rocked the land. To Jim it looked very much like the surface of a pond that someone had thrown a small stone into.

Roughly 80 yards away in the middle of that field were Lieutenant Gorobets, Corporal Sterling, Yes Man, and two of his followers. They would be forcing the fiends out of the facility so that the rest of the sniper team could pick them off as they ran. The remaining two Securitrons were waiting behind the silos, staying out of sight in case a larger fiend presence than expected showed itself.

Suddenly it dawned upon Jim why it was that he felt such unease. The Securitron force added to their own firepower was entirely too much. He looked out through his scope; the strike force was only 40 yards away from the target now.

The thought continued to nag at his as he tracked their progress, the scouting reports Young had given them said that at maximum they would encounter a dozen or so fiends, yet he'd sent enough Securitrons to—oh shit Jim thought, he'd sent enough Securitrons to take out a battalion of soldiers. Chills ran down his spine and he focused the cross hairs of his rifle on one of the Securitrons in the distance. To his dismay he was a moment too late. Just as he released a barrage of three armor piercing rounds he saw the bodies of Gorobets and Sterling fall to the ground, where they lay with blood oozing from hundreds of 9mm bullet holes.

The Securitron he shot exploded in a shower of shrapnel which flew in all directions, striking its allies. The explosion itself blew a large chunk off of a second Securitron damaging it to the point of malfunction, the last Securitron had its tire shredded to pieces by the debris and careened off into the night, weapons firing blindly. Jim was pleased by the result, but his pleasure was short lived as two more Securitrons exited the ruins. Jim aimed his weapon again, but was knocked out of his crouched stance by several nearby explosions. Along with the blasts came a wave of fire which engulfed the silo area. The Securitrons in the Plant! Jim pulled off his sight and stared down the barrel of his gun just in time to watch 10 of Spades sink several shots into a robot's face plate. In a burst of glass and sparks the plate shattered and the mechanical enemy fell to the ground defeated.

10 of Spades shouted out in victory, but was cut off abruptly by a volley of crimson laser beams. A cry of pain followed by a thud as the sniper's body hit the ground. Jim retaliated by sinking an entire magazine's worth of lead into the front of the Securitron and it joined its partner on the rocky earth.

More explosions shook Jim's tower, and this time he could not maintain his balance. He laid on the ground for a moment with the wind knocked out of him, his head facing towards the field where he could see the last two Securitrons advancing towards his position. Jim regained his form quickly and grabbed his riffle hurriedly as he was forced to roll away from yet another volley of explosives.

The robots didn't quite know where he was yet and he could use that to his advantage. Jim hurried over to the base of the silos with the intent of using them as cover, but his plans were soon changed. At the base of the pile of gravel where they'd eaten dinner hours before was the body of Corporal Betsy. She must have been thrown from her position from the blast as she bore no burns, but she was unmistakably dead. Her riffle was nowhere to be found and neither was her pack. Clutched in her hand was a slip of paper; Jim removed the paper and let her hand fall lifelessly to the dirt.

The sight of his fallen comrades filled Jim with a rage he'd never before felt, though he'd only known them a little over a week they were his teammates and he felt a strong connection to each of them. Now it was time for someone to pay for their deaths.

Safety be damned Jim thought as he recklessly charged out from behind the metal barricade. He raised his rifle and waited. The Securitrons were 50 yards away: safety off.

40 yards: finger tightening on trigger.

30 yards: Target locked into place.

20 yards: Magazine unloaded, target destroyed.

With only one Securitron left Jim realized he'd miscalculated gravely—he was out of bullets. Fury mixed with desperation and Jim charged across the final 20 yards faster than he'd ever run before in his life. Blood was pounding in his ears and he saw red. On the final robots face was that fucking smile.

When Jim was ten yards away Yes Man lifted a hand and unleashed a burst of laser fire from point blank range. Anticipating the attack Jim dived into a roll the white hot beams singing the air around him. A few of the bolts hit him in the shoulder as dove, but in his current state they were nowhere near enough to slow him down. The adrenaline quickly drowned out the pain.

His roll brought him directly in front of the treacherous robot. With one fluid movement Jim transitioned from an evasive roll into a lunging attack and used the momentum to slam his shoulder into the Securitron. Yes Man teetered on his wheel and toppled over where Jim quickly regained his footing and stood over him.

Before the robot could aim either of his deadly hands in Jim's direction the last surviving member of 1st Recon drew his .357 and shot that damn smile until the gun would fire no more. At last with all the robots lying dormant Jim fell to one knee in pain and exhaustion.

Latter he would not remember how he managed the long trek to the supposed fiend hideout; likely he managed it only because of the remaining adrenaline still coursing through his body. Whatever his method Jim eventually stood in the threshold of the ruins and confirmed what he'd suspected in the tower. The fiends weren't there, at least not alive.

The bodies of a dozen fiends were scattered about the ruins. Some bore the same bullet hole wounds as Gorobets and Sterling, while other were burned by laser blasts, and still others yet were nothing but a pile of armor covered in dust. A fire was burning in a trashcan in the center of the compound and it was next to it that Jim collapsed; the body of Driver Nephi was thrown against the wall opposite him. The fiend lord still clutched in his hand the 9 Iron that had taken the life of many an NCR soldier and countless civilians of New Vegas.

Jim unfurled the note in his hand, the note Betsy had clutched in her dead hand, and read.

"The cook's herd has been trimmed, and his staff fired. You can find him alone at the bottom of a bottle surrounded by thousands more.—U."


	10. Killing the Cook

**Chapter 10: Killing the Cook**

**July 6****th****, 2283 8:00 AM**

**Crescent Canyon**

A light wind swept across the Mojave kicking up small clouds of loose sand and debris. Lia quite enjoyed the small gusts, though then inevitably meant she'd be dumping what seemed like half the wasteland out of her boots soon enough; such was life in the Mojave she supposed.

She'd made slow progress, hampered greatly a limp owing to an old injury. That damn Gecko was to blame for re-aggravating it. Well that and that and her insistence on hunting with a shotgun. The hitch in her gait was further extenuated by the rocky terrain she was forced to transverse by walking along the edge of the canyon. Still she persisted, determined to find a place where crossing the gap was safe rather than walk further north on smooth ground.

Her luck had held up remarkably well in that she'd not seen a single gecko in the days following her first encounter with the scaly canyon dwellers.

Two hours of arduous hiking latter Lia began to notice that ground was evening out. About damn time, she thought to herself. A quick glance down into the canyon filled her with hope as she saw the bottom was much closer than it had been only hours before. Finally, the end of this nonsense was close. Further ahead in the distance Lia could just make out the end of the canyon, where the ground began to slope down into the gorge. To say the sight was welcome to the travel weary explorer would be an understatement.

It was just over an hour before she reached the end of Crescent Canyon; here the southern mountains were walled off by a sustainably lower wall of rock than back at her campsite-yet another welcome surprise. Lia sized up the wall and guessed it to be twenty or so feet in height, which was easily scalable by a climber of her skill. She again silently thanked her former mentor, Red, for the exploration training she'd been given that had kept her alive and moving forward on this journey.

The noon sun was bright overhead so Lia decided to take a break for lunch and made her way to the foothills of the great mountains. She sat contently in the shade of a large boulder, situated between the rock and southern rock barrier. In her lap a radio played a lazy banjo tune as she ate a lunch of Brahmin steak and half a bottle of clean purified water. It's so peaceful out here away from Westside and its problems, she thought to herself quite enjoying the calm afternoon, why do I ever go back?

From behind the boulder a hissing sound broke Lia from her pensive state. Quickly she silenced the jaunty tune and stowed her radio back into her backpack. Again she heard the hissing, closer now, coming from the left of her position. Lia cursed herself for being so careless; this is why she lived in civilization-no giant lizards running amok. Well that, and running water was a definite plus.

Thinking quickly Lia picked up a chunk of loose rock from the ground beside her and tossed it to her left. The stone hit a pile of gravel ten yards away causing a miniature avalanche of pebbles and dust. The clattering served well as the decoy Lia'd hoped it would be, and no sooner did she hear the noise of rocks tumbling than a too familiar golden-green blur zipped past her towards the sound.

The clever explorer shot out of the niche as fast as her legs would carry her. She hurtled over piles of rock and across the jagged ground towards the north; she didn't know where she was headed, just that it would be far away from that damn gecko. Angry hissing came from behind her, too close. Surely the golden monster couldn't have figured out her ruse that quickly?

Lia snuck in a look over her shoulder and the sight gave her a new speed. Chasing her was an entire pack of no less than fifteen of the Gecko's. Every single one of them was as large as the one she'd killed and most were larger than that. So preoccupied was her mind that she didn't even notice the set of railroad track in front of her until she struck a foot against one of the metal rails. She stumbled momentarily before regaining her footing, luckily avoiding a fall that would have surely meant her death at the hands of the reptilian horde.

Her panicked sprint took her over the tracks and down several rolling hills before she realized that she was no longer being pursued. Sand struck her face, carried by a strong gust of wind. The barrage of grit blinded Lia momentarily, and it was with great hesitation that she opened her eyes again.

When she did open them and took a look around she saw that the hills she'd charged down surrounded the ground where she stood. It's a basin, she thought. Lia was correct, she was standing at the bottom of a dried up lake turned desert.

She turned quickly, alarmed by an angry clicking sound, just in time to see the tail of a Rad-Scorpion headed straight at her face!

* * *

><p><strong>July 6<strong>**th****, 2283 7:00AM**

**Big MT**

Neu couldn't help but question the decisions that had brought him to his current situation. Just part of his nature, he supposed. On the directions of someone he only knew as 'U' he'd started out into hostile territory towards a destination he'd never before seen; not that he was charging out totally blind however.

His excitement at finding the carvings had been short lived when he'd realized that he still had no idea who'd written them or what the area was like. Fortunately further inspection of the commander's desk had yielded the answer to one of those questions at least; tapped to the top of the main drawer Neu'd found a single holotape.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, just a common prewar data storage device that Neu may have disregarded had it not been hidden as it was. One the back of the white plastic casing was a symbol that Neu knew all too well. Forgotten by much of the wasteland after over two centuries of death was the insignia of his ancient enemies—the flag of America.

The sigil was painted in black paint, clearly done not with the precision of a stamp press, but instead imprinted by hand. What surprised Neu most was that the paint wasn't faded or chipping; no, this was freshly done by whoever had put it in the desk. In the corner of the tape, underneath the flag, was the same 'U' as was carved into the wood in front of Neu.

Intrigued he inserted the disk into the data upload slot on his, incredibly versatile, armor. Instantly the suit read and copied the information contained on the tape and it began to stream into the HUD of his helmet. When the data finished uploading a map appeared before Neu. It was a map of a circular complex labeled 'Big MT', which he assumed was the name of the mountain crater he found himself awoken inside of.

Several locations were labeled in different colors. Among them was a circular complex named 'The Think Tank'; it was colored a brilliant red hue—the international sign for danger. Directly to the north of the Think Tank, and North-East of the prison complex, was another circular building, this time labeled in white, denoted simply as 'safety'.

And it was by following that map that he would himself in his current situation, which was running along a raised railroad track in flight from the most hideous creature he'd even laid his eyes upon. He ducked behind the broken remains of a railroad car and drew the 9mm pistol from its holster on his hip. Neu turned back and saw the monster charging along the rails towards him, like some sort of hellish demon.

The beast, from a distance, first appeared to be a coyote, but closer inspection revealed the true horror of the beast. Its head was serpentine and scales continued from its fanged maw down the top of its back down to a tail which featured the rattle of a rattle snake. The creature's body was that of a very large coyote, and the hungry eyes that focused on its prey shone with a green gleam that screamed danger.

Neu had no idea if the rattlesnake/coyote hybrid shared the venom of its scaly parent, and had no interest in finding out. He aimed quickly down the barrel and discharged a tight pattern of bullets. Three of his five rounds found their target, and the chimera was thrown backwards by the force of the blows, dead.

The soldier sighed in relief; the thing looked like they'd come straight from a horror movie, but at least they died easily. He carefully scanned the area for more of the monsters before he dared leave the relative safety of his covered position. Satisfied that it was hunting alone Neu took off yet again along the tracks, his hand hovering around the holster on his hip.

So concerned was he about the reappearance of the monsters that he didn't hear the warning beeps coming from underneath his feet until he was standing almost directly over a landmine. His training and quick reflexes saved his life. Neu threw himself over the railing just as a blast of fire and a mixture of wooden and metal shrapnel exploded up through the tracks. He managed to grab the bottom lip of the metal wall that encased the tracks, saving himself a headfirst plunge to the rock solid ground below.

From above splintered off wood rained down onto the unfortunate man. A particularly large piece struck him in the back of the skull and he lost his grip as the consciousness was knocked from his body.

* * *

><p><strong>June 27<strong>**th****, 2283 11:00 AM**

**South Vegas**

Jim awoke with a start and panicked for a moment before the memories of the previous night's events came rushing back to him in a flood. He was in the former safe hold of the notorious fiend lord Driver Nephi. The dead body of his commanding officer, lieutenant Gorobets, laid in the field to the south, joined by fellow soldier Sergeant Sterling. Across that field at the Samson rock crushing plant was the rest of the former sniper outfit, dead as well. Jim was alone as the only survivor of NCR's 1st Recon division.

Across the floor of the ruined building was the body of the infamous Nephi, propped against the wall. His unseeing eye stared at Jim, still seeming to mock the private from beyond the grave. A rage consumed Jim as he stared back at the corpse of a foe he'd never been given a change to fight. That was the worst bit; his unit had not died with dignity fighting the fiends but by the hands of a traitorous band of robots.

Regardless Jim lashed out in anger by burying the blade of his combat knife into the neck of the dead fiend. Its razor sharp blade easily sliced through the soft flesh and thin layers of muscles and tendons. He felt the blade strike bone and retracted the weapon. With a savage kick he shattered the cervical vertebrae of Nephi's neck, and the fiends head rolled away from his body. It came to rest facedown next to the golf club with which many NCR troopers had met their ends.

His rage not yet satiated Jim grabbed the weapon and smashed the head against the brick over and over. Shards of cement flew from the impact point and jolts of pain rattled through Jim's arm from the force of the blows, but he did not stop. Eventually the club could take no more abuse and the driver's head came flying off leaving behind a sharp, pointed tip.

Jim flashed a wicked smile grabbed the actual head of Nephi. All squeamishness long since abandoned he shoved the pointed end of the golf club up through the neck and impaled the late fiend's head upon it. It was a brutal act, but would make an excellent trophy for Camp McCarran when he returned, if he returned, he thought gloomily.

Above him the sun was sitting at its apex, a time of day when any sort of journey would end in dehydration. So Jim relocated himself under the only remaining bit of roof on the other side of the ruins, leaving his prize back with the rest of its body. There he leaned against the wall and took stock of his supplies and ammunition.

From what he could tell this was a semi-permanent post for the fiends, and it was well stocked with food. Shelves of clean water and fresh fruit, vegetables and salted meat lined the wall in the shade. Jim took as much of the water as he thought was practical for a journey, around a dozen ears of corn, and a few sirloins of salted Brahmin steak. Beside the food was a very large chest made of some sort of heavy-duty plastic composite. It had a lock, but Jim made short work of it; it was a skill he'd learned back west in the boneyard.

Inside was the impressive, if not surprising, sight of hundreds of chems of all varieties. Jim was hesitant to touch any of them, but reminded himself that he was alone in very hostile territory. It was entirely possible that he'd not live to see tomorrow, so worrying about something like a chem addiction just seemed naïve. Still, he told himself, there was no need to overdo things. With that in mind he left behind the bulky Psycho needles and slick Jet inhalers and opted for a dozen syringes of Med-X. He wrapped up the anesthetic in a cloth strip and packed it away in the outer pocket of his backpack.

The temperature was substantially cooler when Jim emerged from the ruins again. With great care to avoid looking at their bodies he removed the dog tags from Gorobets and Sterling's necks. He could not afford the time to bury the soldiers as he would like to, but he could at least return some part of them to their families and fellow servicemen. He did the same for the other three members of 1st Recon, though seeing their bodies pained him greatly.

The worst was 10 of Spades. The cocky private was the only friend Jim had made in the Mojave, and seeing his broken body was almost too much for him. Near the tower where Jim had first seen the betrayal was a single box of .308 ammunition, armor piercing as luck would have it. The rest of his supplies were nowhere to be found, either scattered far away or incinerated by the missile strikes from the previous night.

The sun was nearly gone when Jim returned to the fiend stronghold, and the last rays shone through the mountains soaking the Mojave in a warm fading glow. Jim walked freely along the ruined streets, his revolver in one hand and the impaled head of Nephi in the other, ready for whatever he might face, and consequences be damned.

* * *

><p>A quick dive to her right saved Lia from being impaled upon the purple barb and from the bull rush that followed immediately after. She gathered herself together and got to her feet as the rad scorpion turned back around towards her.<p>

Lia swiftly drew her shotgun and chambered a round, waiting for it to charge again. The oversized arachnid complied with great vigor, its pincer clamping and opening with blinding speed and its tail dripping venom. She released two blasts towards it; the recoil making her should go numb. Only one of her slugs hit its target, while the other sent an eruption of sand into the air from the soft desert floor.

The landing blow impacted just in front of the radscorpion's tale. The solid lead slug failed to penetrate its thick, armored hide, but left a sizeable dent and stopped the charge of the thing momentarily. This pause lasted only a few seconds and, before Lia could even reload, the scorpion resumed its charge and landed a direct hit with an unopened pincer on Lia's right arm. The force of the strike knocked the shotgun from her grasp and sent her sprawling across the sandy ground. The scorpion reared up in front of her and Lia braced herself for a strike that wasn't forthcoming. Instead her eight-legged opponent retreated back across the sands away from her.

Lia was confused. It was just sitting there across from her, blocking her path to the shotgun, occasionally clicking its pincers but making no movements to attack. What the fuck is it doing, she wondered, it can't be…waiting? It was then that Lia noticed that the scorpion's tail was no longer flexing or making any movements at all. It was just laying limp and curled up on the scorpion's back. Was it waiting for her to just kill it? No, that couldn't be it, Radscorpions were notorious for being extremely aggressive, even attacking each other at times, and one would never back down like this.

She snuck a glance back over her shoulder and got her answer. Across the desert pack of radscorpions were advancing towards her. Lia knew she needed to end this fight and quickly. From the side pocket of her camping pack she procured a rather elegant tool of death.

It was a six-shooter—possibly the nicest ever to be aimed at a giant, mutated scorpion. Black metal made up the barrel and frame of the gun, overlaid with ornate gold engravings. Written in some fancy pre-war calligraphy on the ejection tube was the word 'Lucky'. Clenched in her fist was a handle fashioned of bright white ivory, adorned with a black clubs symbol on one side and an ace on the other, both now covered by Lia's fingers.

She cocked back the hammer and with one arm fired off all six .357 shells towards the rad scorpion. Predictably the first three went wide, Lia never was a very good shot, but the final three rounds all hit the beast's head. The first and second bullets shattered the face plate of the scorpion, while the third shot straight through the shattered remains and buried itself in the brain. The radscorpion flailed about for a very short time before it became still and lifeless.

It was the luckiest kill Lia had ever seen, much less made. Her good fortunate would continue as she looked back to check on the advancing herd of scorpions. In the center of the lake she could see a full scale war in progress between the horde of Radscorpions and a large group of similarly gigantic ants. The Rad scorpions were much bigger, but were outnumbered at least three to one. Compounding their difficulties was the unique abilities of these ants; they were dousing the scorpions in waves of fire.

Lia wasn't eager to stick around long enough to be the dinner to whichever faction won the battle and gathered up the shotgun from where it had fallen. In the distance to the north-east she saw the roof of a building. Any shelter in a storm, she thought, and headed away from the dusty battlefield and back towards civilization.

* * *

><p>Neu woke with a splitting headache. He was lying on his back on the stony ground below the train track. Sunlight filtered down through the gaping hole that the landmine had carved out and struck his facemask. Strangely no light reflected from the glass surface, seemingly swallowed into the gold foil beneath.<p>

He groaned as he struggled, painfully, to his feet. A robotic female voice from the helmet alerted him that his Med-X reserves had been depleted; just as well, Neu thought, no need to have his armor pumping him full of drugs after every little fall.

Shaking off his grogginess Neu drew up the map and checked his position. According to his calculations, based on the distance he'd already traveled, he was still three to five kilometers from the dome shaped building labeled 'safety'. The internal clock of his suit read 2 o'clock in the afternoon, meaning he still had at least five or six hours until the sun set and he was made into an easy target for whatever nocturnal predators this strange land held. The thought of encountering an entire pack of the strange beast he'd killed earlier was more than enough to spur him back to his journey.

The path that Neu followed was winding and indirect, snaking around mountains of rock that obscured his view. The tunnel vision made the cautious man very uneasy, so he proceeded with his assault carbine drawn. After an hour and a half of hiking through the pass he turned yet another corner, the muzzle of his weapon leading the way, and found himself face to face with something somehow more horrifying than the hellhound from the railroad tracks.

Clad in an assortment of medical scrubs and jumpsuits was a group of the most pathetic looking humans he'd ever seen. They ambled around a pile of trash, broken mugs, and toasters occasionally pick one of the items up and playing with it for a moment before dropping it back into the pile. The group was entirely male, and all had major scarring on their heads. Some individuals of the group were even bleeding from wounds where the stitching jobs had failed to hold up.

As he watched, crouched behind the corner roughly thirty meters away, Neu saw two of the larger members start a confrontation. The object of their disagreement appeared to be the broken remains of a toaster that they were engaged in a battle of tug-of-war over. The larger of the two was screaming something in a language, if it was indeed that at all, that Neu could not comprehend or even recognize despite being fluent in ten different languages from all over the globe. The series of grunts either meant something to the other man, or he was simply angered by the loss of the toaster; either way the result was the same, and he lashed out with his other hand.

Attached to the man's fist was a heavy metal glove that looked almost identical to the power gloves fists that were commonly used by United States Infantrymen in the years before the bombs fell. Before now Neu had only ever seen the pneumatic weapons used against armored opponents and was not quite prepared for the bloody spectacle of one, much faster and more forceful to boot, being used against the unarmored flesh of the larger man's head. The man's head was decapitated, or disintegrated, immediately and his opponents grabbed his spoils and celebrated with more exaltation in the same grunt-like language as before.

The sight sickened Neu. As a soldier he wasn't new to death, gruesome or otherwise, and had killed before. What was so revolting to him was the brutality and randomness of it all. The toaster was already discarded back into the pile and forgotten about, yet it was that piece of rubbish that the man wielding the weapon on his hand had been willing to kill for. What kind of hell was this Big MT?

He ducked back behind the rock formation and gathered himself again, clearing his mind of emotion so as to not be swayed by his anger into making a decision that might cause him more trouble down the road. Logical processes lead him to the same conclusion; these humans were savages that had no regard for human life and would likely attack him at their first chance. As much as he would like to consider himself above their ways he knew that on the battlefield survival sometimes meant kill or be killed. Still, he thought he would give them one opportunity to show themselves not to be completely feral.

Slowly Neu walked towards the group, his hands held above his head in the universal sign of peace, ready however to draw the carbine on his back at the first signs of hostility. He wouldn't have long to wait; by the time he was within fifteen meters of the group gunfire sounded and the rocks in front of Neu exploded into a shower of dust and stone debris.

Neu was disappointed by their reaction though not surprised. He disappeared into the air, cloaked by the stealth field of a stealth boy that the technology in his suit amplified. The primal humans before him were shocked by his vanishing act and began to fire their weapons, an assortment of pistols and short barreled shotguns in shoddy states or repair, randomly around. There were originally ten of them, but after the brutal beat down and casualties of friendly fire only six remained. They bunched up in a tight group, clearly with no formal training the art of combat. It was almost too easy Neu thought to himself from his perch on the side of one of the rock walls, as he tossed a grenade into the mass of huddled men. The expertly timed blast tore the group to pieces leaving no survivors, and the blast echoed through the narrow paths of the pass.

Eager to evacuate the area before any other enemies could make their way towards the area, alerted by the sounds of the confrontation Neu ran forward out of the clearing and further into the path. Again he led with the barrel of the battle riffle and kept decided to keep the stealth field active until he was sure he was not going to be attacked.

His clock read 4:45 PM before he disengaged the stealthboy, now depleted by a fourth of the power bar, and slowed his pace to a steady walk. Before him the walls were starting to widen, and he felt the claustrophobia he'd started to develop from his time in the narrow pass begin to lift.

Around one final corner was the end of the pass. Now before him was a deep canyon that stretched for many kilometers in many directions. And protruding from the uneven ground surrounding the gorge as well as its walls were gigantic diamonds.

* * *

><p>South Vegas was quiet as dusk turned into night, the last of the sunlight extinguished. To the east the bright lights of the strip shone with promises of splendor. Far removed from such decadence was Jim Trotter. He walked the streets brazenly wielding his revolver, as if daring any one to challenge his progress.<p>

Unseen by the soldier of the republic were eyes that followed his progress, always hidden in the ruins. They would wait for their opportunity, no need to hurry things, and it would come.

Jim didn't like the calm, something was wrong. He knew that there was no way that he should be able to stroll the streets in fiend territory so openly and remain unbothered. In the hours that he'd been walking he hadn't so much as seen a single fiend; something wasn't right.

The walls of the main fiend hub loomed tall ahead of him, dwarfing the rest of the crumbling ruins. Fires burned in metal drums on either side of the large metal doors that were the portal to the largest hive of drug abuse and degeneracy in the Mojave. Jim briefly considered charging through them, a sure suicide mission, but held himself back. After all, he had a mission.

It was a simple mission, but one that he was determined to see through. He was going to kill Cook-cook. Again and again he ran the words, written on the scrap of paper he'd found clutched in Corporal Betsy's dead hand, through his head.

The cook was obvious enough, Cook-cook. Jim was however stumped by the rest of the message. The line 'at the bottom of a bottle surrounded by thousands more' sounded to him like a bar, but surely no bar in the Mojave would harbor a criminal with the reputation of the fiend lord. He was so lost in the thoughts of hunting the fiend that he didn't even notice the trap he'd wandered into.

From a building to his right, only fifteen feet away, a hail of red laser burst forth towards Jim. The shooter was either the worst shot in the wasteland or far too high on any number of various chems to operate his weapon effectively and the entire barrage sailed far wide and disappeared into the night. The shots did break Jim from his thoughts and he was thrust back into reality by another, single beamed, blast of red light.

This one came from in front of him, some fifty feet away. The bolt caught him in the right shoulder, singing his armor and turning him towards the building from which the first shots had been fired. He aimed quickly and fired a bullet at the RCW Laser wielding chem addict. His aim was true and the fiend dropped down, sans head.

From the same direction as the second laser came a bright green glob of plasma that struck the ground just short of Jim. Superheated matter sprayed up from its impact point and showered his shin protectors. The plasma burned through the leather and seared his skin. Adrenaline quickly masked the pain, and Jim was filled with bloodlust once again.

Hatred for his enemy coursed through his veins and he saw red, running forward at the group of a dozen or so fiends. His survival instincts were long gone now and he didn't so much as take a second glance for cover. Jim raised the head of Nephi over his head like a battle flag and fired off the remaining five bullets in the gun towards the group.

Inside the ruined buildings, where they'd staged their ambush, whispers were exchanged between the fiends. Looks of terror overtook the drugged up fighters and they pointed at the mounted head of Nephi in disbelief. The whole group, with the exception of the few whom Jim had struck with his random potshots, fled into the night. So quick was their flight that they didn't even bother to holster their weapons, favoring to drop them and run.

Confused by their rapid change of heart, and dissatisfied that he would not get the fight he so badly wanted in his present state, Jim pursued the group holstering the revolver and drawing his knife. They ran to the north along a railroad track that had once carried rock from the quarry up to Utah. Jim fell behind the group, weighed down by the injuries to his legs as well as his riffle and much heavier armor. He lost the group when they disappeared behind a long metal wall.

He burst through the gap in the wall moments later, but his prey was nowhere to be seen. On the other side of the barrier was an abandoned Poseidon fueling station, littered with the metal husks of pre-war cars.

Behind the long dormant pumps was a brick wall, with many chunks missing, which stretched around another large facility. Towering above that wall was the largest Sunset Sasparilla bottle Jim had ever seen. This was the answer to his question. Feeling the bloodlust fade away Jim sheathed the knife and reloaded his revolver. It was time to pay his respects to the cook.

* * *

><p>The building that Lia had seen in the distance was much further away than she'd realized. Long ago she left behind the soft, sandy desert floor of the dried up lake and taken the road north. Her progress was hampered by the cracked surface of the path and large pits, as if the route was the victim of a bombardment of explosives, and it was nearly sunset when she reached the outskirts of the town.<p>

She checked the map of her pip-boy, a useful electronic data storage device given to her by a thankful hotel owner on the strip as a reward for vault jumpsuits that she wore on her wrist. It was as she had suspected; this town was missing from her map, and it was only a month old since she'd updated the device. This far south there should be nothing for miles, she mused.

Bewildered she set forth down the street leading towards the heart of the town. Like many wasteland towns much of the settlement lay in ruins, but even so this one seemed especially rundown. She didn't encounter a single person and was beginning to grow uneasy from the quiet as she turned a corner onto the main street. One glance was all she needed to identify exactly where she was.

Lined on either side of the street, standing up to seven feet in the air, were staves. On top of the staves were human skulls, bleached a stark white by the sun. Lying around the bases of some of the stakes were the remains of fallen skulls, many broken to pieces by animals that saw them as a free meal.

Lia pressed forward, her need for shelter far outweighing the urge to flee from the revolting sight.

Further down the staves were replaced by crucifixes. Frayed ropes hung off of their thick wooden beams and skeletons, whole this time, lay scattered around their bases. The dried corpses of bark scorpions startled her until she realized that they too were dead.

She hurried past the remains towards the large building whose roof she had spotted hours earlier from the desert. As she ran past the skeletons old stories flashed through her mind. This was Nipton, the town of the dead. Years before the whole town was slaughtered by the forces of Caesar's Legion before David Young and his army of Securitrons had driven the warlord away. Now it was nothing but a monument to the horrors of Caesar's rule and was not even listed on many maps, hers included.

Still rumors persisted about the town being haunted by the spirits of its former inhabitants. Normally Lia scoffed at the tales of Powder Ganger ghosts terrorizing visitors; the only ghosts of that group were fighting a losing battle with fire geckos in Vault 19. However, there was enough eeriness about the place to make her doubt her certainty just a bit.

She pushed open the doors and stepped into the large town hall, leaving behind the street and its horrors. A foul stench assaulted her nostrils as she closed the doors behind her. It was a mix of rotting meat and shit. Lying on a reception desk to her left was yet another skeleton; around the bottom of the desk was a large stain of dried blood. More bodies were strewn about the floor along with the remains of a half dozen large dogs.

Lia fought the urge to run out the doors and instead quickly made her way across the dark room to a set of stairs. Taking the steps two at a time she emerged onto the second floor. Here the stench was bearable and she could see no bodies. Light filtered in through windows which were bare of boarding, unlike those downstairs. This floor was neater than the first and looked as if someone had lived there fairly recently.

A jolt of pain shot through her wounded arm. The bones didn't appear to be broken, but a nasty bruise had appeared and was slightly disturbing. Lia searched the offices around for supplies, but came up empty handed.

Outside darkness had fallen, and Lia could hear coyotes howling the distance. Thankful for her shelter, ghost stories and all, she kept up her search. Before long Lia found a single stairwell leading up to a locked door. The lock, a standard five tumbler dead-bolt, proved to be little challenge for the explorer and she quickly gained entrance to the room beyond.

Lia walked into a small, vacant room. The only furnishings were two small chairs situated next to a coffee table at the far end of the space. She continued into the room and opened another door at the left end of the room.

This room was much larger than the first, with a wall of widows that looked out over the southern portion of Nipton. Lia couldn't make out much through the portal however, as the glass was made opaque by years of sandstorms that had left a thick layer of sand behind.

In front of a bookcase, which was leaned against the far wall, was a very large desk with a single computer terminal. Ignoring yet another door at the end of the room, Lia made her way to the desk and sat down in the ancient office chair. A cloud of dust rose from its cushion causing Lia to have a violent coughing fit.

When her sinuses recovered she began to search through the desk for anything that might help the pain that was evolving rapidly from a dull ache to a searing agony in her elbow. She was in luck and found a single syringe of Med-X at the back of the main drawer. Without hesitation Lia injected the pain killer, sighing in relief as the drug went to work. Lia generally did not approve of the wanton use of opiates such as Med-X or any of the other chems that were so rampantly abused in Westside and in the fiend territories beyond, but this was a legitimate use.

With her mind cleared of the pain she turned her attention to the door she'd ignored moments earlier. The door lead to a storage room, with a single flickering light, stocked with enough supplies to last a single traveler at least a month. Bottles of clean water lined the wall in the back of the room, and there were hundreds of boxes of pre-war food on the myriad of metal shelves. After exploring the room further Lia nearly tripped over a mattress in the far corner.

Lia went back to the office and stashed her bag behind the large wooden desk before returning to the makeshift bed and lying down. In minutes she was asleep, oblivious to the raging sand storm outside and the visitor it concealed.

Lia was awoken by the sound of a creaking door, and the pounding of heavy footsteps upon the wooden flooring outside the closet. She listened closely, but the footsteps were gone and the building lay silent. She checked the digital watch on her wrist; its dim green face read 4:00 AM.

The old ghost stories, heard around bars and campfires, asserted themselves to the front of her mind. Wind howled outside as a sandstorm raged, shaking the windows in the other room. Lia rose from the mattress slowly and walked to the door, careful to be as quiet as possible. Her efforts were ill rewarded, and she stumbled over the leg of a shelf and toppled into the office.

Seated in the swivel chair, next to her backpack of supplies and weapons, was a large figure. It made no reaction to her ungracious entrance and continued to stare out the windows, back turned to Lia. She picked herself up from the floor and cleared her throat. Though she was bordering on terrified of who, or what, ever was in the chair she was determined to face the adversary.

The chair turned and reached out to the wall, flipping a switch. Light flooded the room from a chandelier on the ceiling. The figure was revealed to be a man, albeit a very large man. He wore a heavy duster over torn and frayed legion armor. His hair was twisted into dreadlocks that fell down over his dark skin.

In between his legs was a long wooden staff, it looked like a small flagpole to Lia, with a golden eagle ornament at its end. The eagle rested against one of his broad shoulders. In his right hand he was holding a pistol, her pistol. He did not point the weapon at her and instead spun it a few times before placing it on the desk. He motioned for Lia to sit opposite him, and though he'd not spoken a word she knew that he was not a man to be trifled with. Lia sat down across from him and began to speak.

"So, who is this hand—"She began, attempting to charm the mysterious man. One large hand rose up to silence her. All the time his face remained emotionless, eyes cold and calculating.

"Why do you carry the weapon of a king?" He asked her, indicating the gun before him. "Speak truly or you may join the decorations along the street." Lia was both confused and terrified. The brief moment of relief she'd felt that the noise was not caused by the supernatural was fading fast at the presence of a member of a fearsome army that was thought to be eradicated from the Mojave.

"I don't…a king?" She sputtered out, hoping to disarm the man with a pathetic act. His gaze was unmoving and his tone, grave and spoken with a low gravelly voice, remained the same when he responded.

"This weapon, it belongs to the self-proclaimed king of Vegas—David Young. He brought it into the divide, and the men there still fear the sight of it. How is it that you have come to possess such a thing?"

Lia saw that her ploy had failed and choose to take a different tact.

"Oh, is it king now? Yes I was given the gun by Young, as a gift for services rendered." She answered the legionnaire. It was a bluff of course, while he had indeed given her the gun it was out of charity and not gratitude.

"Hmm, not like him. People change." He responded, buying her story. Lia relaxed a bit, but was still ready to flee at the first opportunity.

"Who are you, to be asking questions of such a man?" She demanded, keeping up her bluff of importance to David Young.

"A ghost of many tribes. Prophet of the Old World. Survivor of the Divide. Ulysses. Real question is who you are. Why are you in Young's hide away wielding his weapon?"

"Important business. What is it to you?" She responded, her confidence growing. Ulysses' eyes narrowed at the brass manner she put forward and his fists clenched.

"Stop your games now or die." He said with venomous anger in his voice. He picked up the pistol and cocked back the hammer to accentuate his point. "Where is Young?"

Lia stared down the barrel and knew that her act was done.

"I, I, I don't know." She stuttered, eyes fixated on the hollow black tube in front of her. "I haven't seen him in three years; I came here to get out of a storm." Tears streamed down her face, and they were only partially faked. Ulysses either bought the act or was satisfied with her answer and lowered the gun, though he kept his hand clenched tightly around the handle.

"Very well. You may until the sun rises. I will return at noon, and if I find you here you will have a cross of your own." With those final words he slammed the revolver down on the desk, out of Lia's reach, and stood quickly.

Lia watched in awe as he left the room, both happy to still be alive and petrified of what would happen if she were to meet the man again. The back of his duster, which bore the same sigil as the holotape Neu was guided by, was the last thing she saw of him.

She slept little for the rest of the night and was packed and standing outside the double doors of Nipton Town Hall by eight o'clock that morning. The streets were calm and the air still, a stark contrast to the storm of only hours before.

Lia headed south from the ghost town and back towards the southern mountains. It was not long before the road ended next to the ruins of a small building. Beyond the crumbling walls was a large field, dotted with dented trashcans and the scorched remains of cars. At the southern end of the field was a billboard, amazingly still intact.

Beyond the decrepit sign and metal fence beyond it were rolling hills—a very welcome replacement for the sheer cliff wall that Lia had attempted to climb earlier. Just as she was making her way around a car in the middle of the field Lia heard the sound of gunfire, closely followed by the sound of a bullet whizzing by close to her head.

Acting on instinct she threw herself behind the automobile. A quick peak revealed a pack of, around five or six, raiders emerging from hiding places around the field. Lia took a few shots at the closest of the bandits, but was quickly forced to duck back down by a hail of submachine fire.

Things looked grim for her, alone and outgunned. She again turned towards the attackers; she wouldn't go down by herself. A flash of blue bright green light flashed into being in front of her crouched position, blinding her. Great, she thought, just when it couldn't get any worse…

* * *

><p>Neu found himself in a very precarious position. He was at least 200 yards above the canyon floor, straddling a large green pipe, and he was under fire. Upon his emergence from the mountain pass he'd found himself staring across a deep gorge. Many of the same green pipes that he was currently stranded on crossed the gap, spaced out with no apparent pattern. He'd made the decision to follow the piping which seemed to snake off towards his goal.<p>

However, as luck would have it, his plan had not gone without a hitch. That hitch came in the form of the most gigantic plants Neu'd ever seen. Forty yards below and in front of him, growing on a ledge in the canyon wall, was a patch of Venus Fly Traps. This variety was far from the standard bug catcher Neu remembered however. They were the size of a man and moved very quickly. Worst of all they could spit some sort of, no doubt toxic or caustic, goo. So far their aim was off, but Neu had no intention of being on the receiving end of one of their green slimy projectiles.

He locked his legs tightly around the metal and reached into his travel bag. From a small pocket on the side he procured a grenade, the second one of the four he'd started with, and tossed it in the direction of the plants. The explosion rocked the pipe, but it accomplished the goal he'd intended. One of the plants took the full brunt of the blast and was thrown into another. The force of the impact knocked the second plant from its perch and they both fell to the ground, far below.

The remaining plants either caught fire or were shredded to pieces by the shrapnel from the grenade. Neu quickly finished his crossing and checked his map. He was still about a half mile from his goal.

The sun was about to set when Neu reached the outside of the dome. The building was built into the rock face, and no entrance was visible from his position. Writing on the side of a wall directed him around to the opposite building face. There he could see a wooden post sticking out of the ground near the cliff's edge.

Neu approached the post and found it to be connected to a long rope that stretched to the bottom of the canyon. He tightened his backpack and resigned himself to a very long climb.

When his feet finally touched ground Neu was exhausted and the sun was completely set. The bottom of the gorge was dark and barren. A railroad track ran along the bottom of the ravine and disappeared around a corner. Neu followed the metal rails for a time, but quickly abandoned the track when he saw the entrance he was looking for.

In the side of the rock was a tunnel, he stepped inside the concrete opening only to find that it was an alcove, not a long passage. One door adorned the small opening; Neu saw no way to open the heavy metal portal, but was pleasantly surprised when it slid open as he approached.

He stepped inside, motion activated lights flipping on as he did so. At the end of a short hall was a very large open room. Lining the walls, about twenty feet above the floor, were catwalks that lead to a couple of observation rooms at the far end of the room.

Scuttling from his right alerted Neu. It was a strange sound, metal clicking, which confused him. More lights flickered to life and releaved the source of the noise—five gigantic yellow scorpions. They were each as large as a horse and headed straight for him! Before he could even move to raise his weapon green beams shot from the tail of the scorpion closest to him and struck him directly in the chest. The blast knocked him to the ground, where he lay still and unmoving.

* * *

><p>The head of Nephi stood propped against the eastern wall of the Sunset Sasparilla Bottling Plant like a warning to the fiend population to keep out. Inside the facility Jim stood in the lobby, weapon drawn, surveying the surroundings. Directly across the room was a set of double door, and two other single doors flanked them on either adjacent wall. A trail of blood led from the doors Jim had entered towards the single one on the right wall.<p>

Jim followed the trail and found the door unlocked. Ahead was a hallway that quickly turned around a corner; the blood continued around the turn so Jim followed. Around the turn was a dimly lit corridor, with fluorescent tubes flickering off and on in a desperate attempt to stay alit. Strewn about the ground were the remains of more robots, albeit not the formidable Securitrons, with their chassis scorched and the circuitry inside melted into a useless mass of wiring and plastic parts.

Doors lined the walls of the hall, leading into offices and storage rooms, but the one Jim was interested in was at the end of the hall. Standing slightly ajar were a set of double doors. Next to them was a table with the severed head of a Brahmin resting upon it. Blood dripped from the table to the floor where it formed a pool. The blood trail however continued, though thinner, into the next room.

Jim cautiously walked down the hall and paused next to the open door. In the room beyond he could make out the sobbing and raving of a man. They echoed around what must be a large room. Jim peaked through the doors and saw that he was looking into a warehouse. Drawing his rifle he made sure the magazine was loaded and the safety was clicked off before quietly slipping through the crack between the doors and entered the room.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of large Sunset Sasparilla crates were stacked against every wall and nearly reached the ceiling. Suspended from the roof by metal beams was a catwalk that made a U-Shape around the room. The only side that it did not encompass was the north wall.

The uncovered wall featured two large metal doors connected to some sort of chain and pulley opening system that disappeared into the dark shadows around the ceiling. Opposite of the door squeezed himself through was a staircase leading up to the walkway above. The stairs seemed to be the only way up to the catwalk, so Jim started to make his way over to them.

Now that he was in the room he could make out some of the mutterings, which were coming from above the door where he'd entered, that had echoed around the hallway.

"Took her…My Queenie…Kill Them All…" The words were spoken in a voice that was almost as pathetic as it was insane. Cook-cook seemed to have gone completely off the edge. Distracted by the musing Jim accidentally ran into a crate. Though he regained his balance before falling, bottles that were stacked on top of the box fell to the floor with the seemingly deafening crash of broken glass. The voice above changed its tune immediately. It was louder now, and the sadness was replaced with rage. "Murderer! I'll kill you!"

From above Jim heard the sound of metal clanking and locking into place. The metallic sounds were swiftly followed by a volley of fire balls that rained down on the center of the warehouse floor. Crates, dried after years in the dry Mojave air, erupted into flame. Crazed cackling came from the fiend as he watched the boxes burn.

Disregarding stealth, Jim ran towards the stair case in a full out sprint. He reached the base of the stairs and took them two at a time, rifle held out in front of him ready to fire. Behind him crates burst into flame as Cook-cook missed him with another round of fire. When Jim reached the top of the stairs he immediately aimed his rifle and let loose two shots at the chest of the fiend.

Though he was no more than ten yards from the fiend leader his shots failed to penetrate the heavy metal armor he was wearing. Cook-cook let out another bout of maniacal laughter and dropped the Incinerator he was wielding. With the speed of an expert combatant he slipped on a gas tank harness and grabbed a smaller and much more disturbing weapon.

It was a standard Flamer, but it featured one very unique detail. Attached just behind the nose of the barrel was the severed head of a Brahmin. The mutated cow's mouth was opened wide around the barrel. Cook-cook pointed the weapon at Jim and unleashed a wave of flame. The flames fell far short of the soldier, but the sight of a torrent of fire coming from Queenie's mouth was truly alarming.

Wasting no time Cook-cook ran around the edge of the walkway towards Jim, getting into position. With the fiend lord rushing towards him Jim's attention was so focused on the immediate threat he was almost struck by flying wooden debris when several crates exploded behind him. At the last moment he threw himself to the floor of the catwalk. The metal grating was hot to the touch, but not yet red hot.

Glass shards erupted out among the wooden debris. Both struck Cook-cook, but like Jim's bullets they failed to harm the man. From his position on the floor Jim could see his opponent set his stance, and this time he was well in range.

The next few seconds went by in a blur, and Jim relied on reflex and his training. He brought he rifle up to firing position and let out the remaining three rounds in a pattern that required as much luck as skill to be successful.

The first and second rounds hit Cook-cook in his left shoulder, and they spun the fiend's body around. A swath of flame cut through the air in an arc, catching more and more crates on fire as it went. Jim's last shot, the Hail Mary, hit its mark as well. The heavy metal round easily pierced the, now exposed, thin metal casing of the pressurized gas canister on Cook-cook's back.

Jim immediately rolled off of the platform, losing his rifle in the fall. He hadn't even struck the ground when an explosion, much greater than that of the superheated bottles, rocked the catwalk above him. The canister explosion threw the fiend from the walkway all the way to the north wall. He landed in a heap, his armor snagging one of the chains on the door. The metal sheet rolled up as his body weight dragged down the chain and a small opening appeared.

Meanwhile Jim landed hard on the ground. His leg struck the side of a Sunset Sasparilla crate and a very sharp jolt of pain shot through his body. He dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his non-injured leg. Much like the journey he'd made the night before across the fields outside Nephi's encampment Jim would not remember how it was he crossed that warehouse floor, but somehow he reached the opening. After crawling through he looked back and saw the body of Cook-cook staring back at him. Without thinking he grabbed the shoulders of the fiend and dragged him under the door.

The chain holding the door open was freed and the gate came slamming down—directly onto the neck of the fiend. The bones shattered and Jim made quick work of the rest. Before long he was limping around the building, pain building as the adrenaline from the fight wore off; carrying the severed head of the man he'd promised Betsy he'd kill.

**July 7****th****, 2283**

**South Vegas**

One bridge was all that separated Jim from civilization now. He'd spent the last nine days dragging himself across the fiend territory, and now it was nearly over. Strangely not one fiend had attacked him on his journey. Though he'd been spotted from a distance it seemed that whenever they saw the golf club, now adorned with Cook-cook's head as well, on which he was leaning, they could not leave fast enough.

He looked out over the bridge and smiled. Setting down the club at the western edge he grabbed the railing and began to drag himself towards Camp McCarran—1st Recon was ready to make its final report.

* * *

><p><strong>July 7<strong>**th****, 2283 8:00AM**

**Forbidden Zone Dome**

Blinking lights surrounded Neu. His movements were slow and his gait uneasy as he stumbled around in a haze. The lights grew brighter and high-pitched beeping joined them. He reached out to catch them, but came up with nothing.

It was with a thud that he rolled off of the mattress he was lying on. He hit a hard metal floor and was brought back to reality. He sat up and saw that he was indeed surrounded by the flickering screens, blinking lights, and chirping of computers. The machines lined the walls of his small room. Next to him was a mattress, and to his left was a metal door.

He rose to his feet and found he was still clad in the stealth suit. A quick around told him his weapons had been taken from him, as well as the traveling backpack with the rest of his supplies.

The door slid open when he approached, and he stepped out into a cavernous room. Against a long, tall wall opposite his room was a gigantic screen. Displayed on the monitor was the image of a single eye. The eye flitted about the screen, never stopping on any one thing for long. Framing the screen were two thick pillars that stretched from a lower level than Neu was on to the ceiling of what Neu assumed was the dome.

A _whoosh _from his left marked the entrance of the strangest robot he'd seen yet. It floated in the air like a Mr. handy, yet instead of the multi-tools this one had three monitors. The outer two displayed eyes, like the one on the large screen, or at least one of them did. Blackness consumed the leftmost monitor. The center screen instead of an eye showed the picture of a pair of unmoving lips.

The strangest part of the robot was not however the screen. It was that instead of a metal CPU casing there was a clear dome. Inside that dome, suspended in some sort of gel, was a brain connected to an assortment of wires. Sparks flitted through the gel in random patterns constantly. The robot stopped before him and turned its monitors on his frame.

"Oh, hello there." It spoke in an absent-minded voice. The brain housed inside of its dome lit up with each syllable that the thing spoke. "I see you've awoken. Good to see you weren't harmed; there was a nasty bit of a…well a programing error with the Robo-Scorpion's non-lethal weapon upgrades. Makes them more vicious than ever! Would you care for a Mentat?"

"No." Neu answered with a blank stare. He was still trying to process all the eccentric robot had just told him. "Who are you?"

"I do love Mentats, so delicious and smarty!" The robot continued, ignoring Neu's question. The gel inside its dome fizzled and sparked for a moment before it turned back towards Neu. "Oh, right, I am ! You must be our yellow friend from under the ground."

Neu's look of shock must have given him away.

"Oh yes we knew all about you the day after you were put down there. We have sensors and other such things here. You underestimated the power of SCIENCE!" Neu was again silent, lost for words.

"Very well then. I see you aren't much of one for conversation." Mobius said with a sigh. "Ulysses said you might come. He also said something about an old van and a lung, or was it an old man and a young? Oh, who can tell? At any rate you should go find him, I'm sure he's off in the Mojave chasing some flag about the ground."

Neu quickly made the connection, the U on the desk and the tape must be from this Ulysses. He needed to know more, but doubted he could get the information from the senile robot. He looked around the room for an exit and saw a set of stairs that disappeared into the wall below the large monitor. Neu started towards them but was cut off by the robot.

"Oh no, you don't want to go back out there. My scorpions are still testy and there are lobotomites everywhere. No you want to go to the Mojave!"

"How?"

"Over yonder on that table is a trunk and inside are guns and a teleport gunamgigy. Now go, I have much work to do." With those final words he scooted off across the floor, only to run into a wall seconds later.

Neu turned away from the sight and sought out the trunk. He found it on a table by his room door. It was a long silver chest with a single clasp. He flipped open the lid and saw his weapons lain out neatly inside. He quickly grabbed his armament as well as the backpack containing his supplies that was sitting next to the trunk.

In the bottom of the chest was another object. It had the handle of a standard 9mm berretta handgun, but the barrel was replaced by a glowing green tube. Its trigger was a bright red color and made of thick plastic. In all it looked more like a toy than a true weapon.

Neu shrugged and picked it up anyway. He squeezed the trigger experimentally and in an instant vanished with a bright green flash of light


	11. Intervention and Introspection

**Author's Note**

**I do apologize for taking such a long break from this story, but I am in a summer class that eats all my free time. However, it will be finishing up soon enough and I should have updates more frequently. As always don't be afraid to tell me what you liked and didn't like about this chapter and the story in general.**

****

**Chapter 11: Intervention and Introspection**

**July 7th, 2283**

**Mojave-South of Nipton**

Ulysses knelt on one knee atop a hill to the south of the field where Lia was making her stand against the raider gang. He observed the scene with mild interest through the scope of his DKS-501 sniper rifle. The young woman was not faring well, but he had not expected she would, after all this was not her test.

It was with disappointment that he disengaged the safety and lined up his first target. Mobius had disappointed him this time, probably busy with some useless experiment as always, never the less he needed this girl to live. Just as he was about to bury a .308 caliber bolt of lead into the head of the Jackal closest to Lia, a flash of green light interrupted his concentration. Standing alone in the center of the field was a single man, sporting a set of strange grey armor.

Ulysses relaxed his grip on the weapon and lowered the barrel. He smiled as he switched from the gun to a pair of scouting binoculars—perhaps the doctor hadn't failed him after all.

* * *

><p>The sudden burst of sunlight was a stark contrast to the pale green light of the forbidden zone dome, and the quick change caught Neu by surprise. He stumbled about aimlessly for a few seconds and tripped over the metal body of a destroyed car. A pair of hands grabbed his left arm and shoulder and quickly pulled him over the hood of the vehicle, where he landed with a thump on the ground.<p>

Quickly following his landing were the _Ping!_'s of 9mm bullets striking the side of the car. Neu's vision returned to him and he looked to his left to see a young woman, with brilliant red hair that fell to just above her shoulders and wearing light leather armor over her pale skin, sitting with her back against the metal barrier. In her hand was an old-fashioned colt style revolver which, while fancy looking, looked to be of little use in a fight.

Neu's soldier instincts took over at that point and he pushed aside the questions of where he was and who the woman whom he assumed pulled him to cover was, and for that matter why it was she was being attacked. All that mattered was someone had taken shots at him with the intent to kill, and that would simply not be tolerated.

He swiftly unholstered his assault rifle and grabbed a frag grenade from the loops on his belt. He tossed the grenade over the car towards the sound of the raiders, who were cackling at the sight of their prey cowering. The laughs of delight turned to yelps of panic and a small explosion rocked the Drive-in.

Without hesitation Neu took advantage of the distraction to stand and locate the remaining enemies. 20 yards in front of him three gang members stood, weapons drawn. Beside them were the miscellaneous body parts of their former partners, strewn about by the blast in a bloody mess.

Neu raised his gun and let out two short volleys of fire. Two of the thugs dropped to the ground, dead or soon to be, while the third turned tail and ran. The cowardly criminal even dropped his weapon in his panic.

Neu would have liked to give chase but he decided that the woman, who'd likely saved him at the very least a great deal of pain by dragging him to cover, was more deserving of his attention than some thug.

* * *

><p>Ulysses watched all of this go on from his hilltop view. He was pleased with the quick thinking and combat prowess of the young soldier. Perhaps they had a chance in this after all he thought as he raised his own rifle. A muffled blast was the only sound that was made as he took off the head of the final Jackal in fine red mist.<p>

The strange man put away the weapon and turned away from the scene, back to the East to continue his search.

* * *

><p><strong>July 10th, 2283<strong>

**Camp McCarran**

_Jim stood out in the fields enjoying the last of the sun's rays before it would disappear over the horizon. He was happy out here on his family's ranch, tilling the soil and caring for their livestock. Any visitor from the Mojave would be astounded by the farm._

_Instead of the arid, irradiated sands of Nevada here in Shady sands the ground was fertile and yielded bountiful harvests. Everything was far from perfect, as it would be anywhere. But in comparison to the bleak outlook of life in the east, the west's minute problems of the occasional small gang of raiders or brood of rad scorpions didn't seem nearly as bad._

_Jim dug into the soil, enjoying the feeling of the earth moving as he slid the blade of his hoe through it. He'd always liked to farm, but he had grown restless in the past year. The safety was great, but he felt trapped, confined to a life of farming and monotony._

_So earlier that month he'd volunteered to help the cause out west, to help fight with the NCR against the "Devils of the East" as the locals had taken to calling them. Jim wasn't entirely clear on who those devils were, but if it meant seeing more of the world than these fields and the Shady Shores market then he would do it._

_He sighed as he looked over the land one last time then, as the last of the light disappeared over the mountains in the west, he walked back towards his family's small country house._

"Is he awake?"

"No, he'll be out for a while longer."

Jim could hear two voices talking, though he was in no condition to look up to find out to whom they belonged. Agony filled his body, radiating from the leg he'd broken in the fight with Cook-cook. The voices came back to him again, fading in like a faint radio station, and he caught a few more bits of the conversation.

"…Only one who came back…"

"...Nephi and Cook-cook…"

"…Whole squad of Securitrons…"

Jim decided to leave the conversationalists to their talk and let himself fade back into a drugged oblivion.

* * *

><p><strong>8:00 PM July 7th, 2283<strong>

**Wolfhorn Ranch**

Lia stretched herself out on the lone mattress in the small metal shack, having just woken up from a short nap. Light from the stars outside shone in from the holes in the thin roof, and she was glad that rain was a rare occurrence in the Mojave. She looked around the dingy cabin for any sign of her traveling partner, but he was not in the building, though the guns and armor piled into one of the rusty lockers in the far corner suggested he was still nearby. She slowly pulled herself off the bed to her feet, the springs complaining as her weight shifted, and headed out the door.

Outside Neu was crouched down around a fire pit, above which he'd constructed a makeshift cooking rack. Hanging from the rack were skewers of vegetables, cooking over a bed of smoldering coals. He'd set all of this up at the bottom of a steep hill on which the shack stood.

In front of her was a walkway, constructed of metal piping, old frayed ropes, and bits of wood and metal sheeting that Lia supposed was meant to serve as a walkway down the relatively steep face. However she was mistrustful of the rickety construction and chose to take the shallower slope down the hill to the far right. It detour was a bit of a hike, but well worth the assurance of not suffering from a broken bone or other such injury.

Along the bottom of the hill to the east of Neu's setup were the dried up remains of a garden. Soil boxes, now filled with dust and the decayed husks and trunks of various wasteland plants littered ground. Closer to the fire was a large water pump that looked as if it might still run, but Lia had no experience with such a thing and choose to let it be.

Neu made no indication of acknowledgement to her presence even as she took a seat across from him at the fire. The vegetables were giving off an enticing aroma and Lia realized she'd not eaten anything since breakfast that day. Her partner continued to stare at the fire, lost in his own thoughts.

"Did you build all this?" She asked, trying to coax any sort of conversation from the pale man. He didn't respond, which was about what she was expecting. In their short time of traveling together the only time he'd addressed her was to ask if she was alright following their shootout with the Vipers. And even then he'd kept his speaking to a minimum. She only knew his name, Neu, and that he was looking for Ulysses.

She had of course recognized the name immediately, something she thought he'd been happy to hear but couldn't quite tell. The only other communication she'd received from him was a furious shaking of his head when she told him that she was going to head south, and a slight nod when asked if he would like to travel with her back north to New Vegas, where he could try to find what he was looking for.

"Why go south." Neu said in a voice so quiet Lia barely heard it over the crackling of the coals. He repeated the question to her, staring intently into her eyes. "Why do you want to go south?"

"I, well, I guess it just seemed like the thing to do. There is no home up north, not anymore." She answered. Neu's gaze never broke and he continued to stare at her expectantly. She reluctantly continued he was after all heavily armed and much more skillful a fighter than she. "Well, alright I'll tell you. There are rumors around about a crater in the mountains between here and California; travelers call it the Big Empty. Supposedly inside is enough Pre-war tech to make 20 men richer and more powerful than House ever was."

There was silence and Neu broke his stare, much to Lia's relief. The strange man stared into the coals for a while longer before speaking again.

"That place exists. It is hell, do not go there."

"You've been there?"

"Yes. Barely made it out. Better no one ever goes there." He said all this in a grave tone, again staring he in the eyes. This time however he seemed to be staring past her, lost in his memories.

"What about the tech, is it really there?" Lia questioned excitedly. "Surely nothing can be much worse than the Mojave. And the price on all that pre-war technology is…"

She finished trailing off for effect. Her question earned her a glare from Neu.

"It is Hell. Coyotes twice the size of a grey wolf, with the fangs and venom of a rattlesnake, hornets larger than a man and just as vicious as they were before, and metal scorpions that appear out of nothing and attack in hordes. Those are just the horrors on the surface." He said. It was the most Lia had ever heard him speak at one time. "If you wish to throw away your life then you may, but I refuse to help you. I will leave at sunup for Las Vegas, with or without you."

And with that final sentence he grabbed a skewer off of the rack with one gloved hand and stormed back up the hill. Lia did not follow him, instead she contemplated his words. He'd described Nightstalkers and Cazadors pretty damned well, though it was as if he'd never seen them before.

Lia continued to muse over the strange situation as she ate the vegetables off of the remaining skewers. By the time the fire had burnt itself out she still had not drawn an answer to whether she should continue with him, or find her own way to the Big Empty and the treasures it stored. Vowing to sleep on it she backtracked around the path to the shanty house.

When she opened the door she expected to find Neu asleep on the bed, but instead found herself alone in the cabin. Neu's armor was still in the locker, but his rifle was missing as well as the belt of ammunition and grenades he kept with him. She shrugged it off and fell asleep almost immediately, oblivious to the world.

* * *

><p>Lia woke with a start, unsure of what had broken her slumber. Light was just beginning to peak in through the small holes in the ceiling, but the room was still quite dark. She flicked on the lamp and its one incandescent bulb flickered a bit before steadying into a dim glow.<p>

The light was illuminating enough for her to see that Neu's armor was missing from the locker. Perhaps his departure had caused her to wake, she mused. Regardless she searched the storage space for any sign that he may not have left. All the found was a single Stealth Boy in the back corner of the locker.

While Lia had never used, or even seen such an object this close before she did recognize it. Mercenaries often used the rare devices and would sell them for much more than she could ever afford to pay. So she pocketed the device, think at the least she'd make enough off of it for a month's worth of food and water. Seeing no point in staying Lia stepped outside the shack into the early morning air.

Outside the air was a dry as always, and quiet; strangely so in fact. Lia walked around the bend towards the shallow sloping hill to the makeshift camp ground below, and further down the hill the road that lead to Novac in the west. Then she saw something that stopped her mid stride.

Lying on his back in a long abandoned sentry tower, perched on a hill even further up that the shack was a long figure dressed in a metallic suit. Her heart raced and she felt relief; from the second she realized his things were gone she'd made up her mind that she wanted to travel with the man. He was a great fighter and if her expertly realigned shoulder was any indication at least a capable medic.

Lia bounded up the hill towards him, thinking him asleep, wanting to surprise him and perhaps get him to converse a bit while he was off-balance. However when she reached the sentry tower entrance something completely different happened.

The Asian man was not asleep at all and reached up and dragged her to the ground on top of him with lightning quick speed. Lia was shocked and confused for a moment at the sudden gesture. Then his reasoning became apparent a half-second latter when three bullets slammed into the sandbags that provided the walls of their structure. Sand began to pour out slowly to the floor and Neu cursed in a language Lia had never heard.

He gave her a glance and she rolled off of him and lay down on the ground beside him. She pulled out Lucky, her .357 Magnum Revolver, from the holster Neu had given her the previous day. It was meant for a larger gun, but would hold the weapon securely enough. As she was pulling out the weapon there was a clatter of metal on metal. Both Lia and Neu looked towards the source of the sound and saw the Stealth Boy she'd pick up only minutes before.

Neu's eyes widened and the first sign of happiness he'd displaced so far broke across his face in the shape of a sly smile. She paced the device to him and he inserted it into a slot on the chest of his suit.

The action confused Lia, who hoped that his improved demeanor was a good sign rather than an indication that he'd simply lost his mind. Her mind started to lean towards the latter when he pushed his Assault Rifle into her arms and pointed over the bags.

"More Vipers. Four of them. Heavy armed, 10mm auto's at the least." He explained hastily, also pointing towards the direction of their attackers. Not that Lia needed the last bit of information; the cackles of sadistic laughter coming from the south-east were unmistakable. She attempted to hand him the rifle back, but he shook his head and pointed to the gun, her, then back out towards the insane gang of raiders. "I will flank them. When I leave count to three, then let out a few burst of fire towards the yelling. After that wait. And keep you damn head down!"

Lia nodded that she understood his plan. However, she thought that he was insane. If he left those bandits would tear him to ribbons within seconds, armor or not. Still if that was what he wanted then she would do it. She turned away for a second to position herself and when she turned back to wish him good luck Neu had disappeared. Suddenly his plan dawned on her; of course, the Stealth Boy!

After waiting a few seconds she raised the rifle above the line of sand bags and fired blindly towards the sound of the Vipers. Bullets roared out of the weapon with much more speed and fire than she would have imagined and Lia almost dropped the weapon. Managing to secure the firearm at the last second she leaned up against the bags, waiting for any of them try to enter her bunker.

The gleeful cheering had turned into panicked yelping for a moment when Lia discharged the rifle, but after the hail of bullets failed to land a blow anywhere near the gang they reverted to the maniac sounds, with even more gusto than before. They were close now, enough that she could hear the click of magazine cartridges locking into place. Her grip on Neu's weapon tightened as she tried to calm her nerves.

Before the gang of killers could come into her line of fire four small blasts rang out. Lia recognized them as pistol shots and shortly after the blasts came the sound of bodies hitting the ground. She poked her head over the sandbags just in time to see Neu reappear holding a 9mm Berretta hand pistol. He gave him a smile, to which he simply nodded, and walked down the ramp towards so they could plan their next move.


	12. Toppling Dominos

**Chapter 12: Toppling Dominos**

**7:30 PM July 7****th****, 2283**

**Cottonwood Cove Overlook**

Dust swirled around the worn boots of a large figure as he walked up the hill overlooking Cottonwood Cove. A man in his mid-twenties sat on the edge of a cliff staring across the beach and river below. A long shadow fell over him though he made no indication that he had noticed the approaching visitor, even when the man was only feet behind him.

"Why is it that the 'King of the Mojave' is constantly found here, sitting among ghosts?" Ulysses asked, his voice taking a decidedly derisive tone. David Young did not respond immediately, but after a moment he turned his head back towards the visitor. Shielding his eyes with his right hand from the setting sun, he returned the insult with a wry smile.

"Why is it that 'The Phantom of the Divide' constantly asks tedious questions of a king?" He finally responded with a slight smile. Ulysses shrugged, as if to say fair enough, and sat nearby on a rock facing Young. They sat in silence for a while longer before Ulysses again broke the silence.

"So word is that Excalibur has changed hands."

"It's always about the weapons for you isn't it?"

"My priorities are not important here."

"You always were a stubborn bastard. Very well then, on whose word did you hear that?"

"Mine. Strange that you would give up that little gun, when you know damn well the fear the Divide has of it."

"I hope that God-Forsaken hellhole fears more than just a simple revolver." Young replied with a laugh. Both men knew he was right, the Divide held no fear for either of them. "It was time for a change of pace. Besides, she was hot and I've got a thing for redheads and an addiction to playing the hero."

"Hmp, is that why you're here then?" Ulysses inquired, annoyed at the idle conversation, but knowing it was the only way to get David to listen. To his dismay the man fell silent. His gaze was fixed upon a slab of stone that lay on the beach below, just above the level of the tide.

"I could ask you the same thing." He replied in a muted voice, the jovial attitude of a brief moment before gone and replaced with more than the slightest hint of disdain. "Wasn't that the same day I brought your precious Legion to its knees?"

If the comment angered Ulysses he didn't show it. Instead the former Frumentarious shook his head and stared out across the Colorado River. He couldn't help but notice that underneath its rippling tide dark shadows were moving towards the shoreline.

"You know as well as I that is false. I follow neither Bear nor Bull."

"Yet you follow me." Young said rising to a knee and drawing the large rifle that was strapped across his back. It was a fairly standard .308 Round Battle Rifle, however Ulysses could make out the words 'THIS MACH—' on the stock, before David's hand cut off his view.

"Indeed. As well as the movements of all the players." He responded calmly, watching Young target newly emerging lakelurks on the shore below.

"Oh yeah? And who is it that's moving these days?" Young asked, pulling the trigger and removing the head of the first scaly abomination to surface.

Ulysses gave him a very solemn look and whispered a single name.

"Elijah."

**7:00 AM **

**July 8****th****, 2283**

**North of Wolfhorn Ranch**

"700 caps for a half-broken shotgun and a couple dozen shells?!" Lia yelled indignantly at the merchant. She was standing atop of an on ramp dividing Nipton Highway and another road that wound its way north towards Vegas. Standing beside her was Neu, though he was not interested in helping her peddle with the traveling merchants. He was focused on the road to the north, and underneath, of them. His eyes moved up and down its broken, cracked expanse, but saw no movement. Likewise the hills to the west were also still, showing no signs of any activity, either Raider or wildlife. Satisfied with his security sweep, Neu turned his attention back to the conversation.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but 500 caps is the absolute lowest I can do." The merchant was telling her. Neu was impressed by the saleswoman's will, as Lia looked like a crazy woman, her messy crimson hair dangling in her face and a look of manic determination in her eyes; not to mention the heavily armed and armored gunman standing beside her. He noticed the merchant's own guard begin to tense up a bit and hold the tip of his sub-machinegun a bit more upright. Neu shot the man what he hoped would be taken as a warning look and shifted his assault rifle a bit for emphasis. The guard lowered the weapon, but continued to watch Neu closely.

Lia, oblivious to this exchange, was happily exchanging her caps with the woman for the weapon and ammunition. She quickly packed away her purchase into her pack and turned back towards Neu, who was already starting to walk down the highway ramp. He was eager to get off of the exposed structure and Lia had to break into a light jog to catch up with him. When she did she gave him an annoyed look which garnered her no response.

"Well, isn't someone grumpy." She chided playfully. He gave a sigh and shrugged his shoulders, continuing his rapid gait until they reached the bottom of the ramp.

"Too exposed. We could be seen for miles." He finally responded, scanning the road ahead of them.

"Oh will you calm down already? The NCR patrols this road, from here on to the 188 Slop and Shop anyway."

"Who?" He asked, evidently having not grasped a single bit of her previous statement. Lia was taken aback by his lack of knowledge.

"Where is it you said you were from again?" she asked, her own curiosity piqued by the foreign man.

"I didn't. Home is, was, far away." His voice had a slight inflection of pain and grief, so subtle Lia could barely make it out.

"What do you mean it _was_ far away? Is it gone now? Did someone take it over?" She asked in a wave of questioning.

Though his eyes were straight ahead, fixed upon the upcoming curve in the road where the mountain ended, Neu was looking beyond the road. He snapped back to reality and turned back to face his enthusiastic travel companion. Her face was bright and cheerful, showing nothing of the morning's earlier events.

"No, it still there. Cannot return now; there is no way. Long story, maybe I tell other time." Lia pouted a bit, but didn't let the rejection show for long and was soon whistling some song that Neu had never heard. Just ahead the mountain finished its steep decent earth and the skyline of Vegas came into view far away in the distance.

The soldier was amazed that it was still standing, having thought that Lia had only meant the broken remains of sin city. Instead, far off in the distance, he could see the undamaged skyline of the Las Vegas Strip, infamous worldwide for its impoverishing allure. Standing out above the other square block buildings was the pinnacle of the Strip; it was the Crown Jewel of the desert wastes. A tall thin spire, topped with a circular hub that shone bright even miles away where they were in the dim, early morning light. Extending from this bright tower were four metal beams. Lia noticed his enchanted stare and laughed.

"It's called the Lucky 38." She explained. "The home of David Young, our self-proclaimed 'King of the Mojave'." Though her words suggested otherwise, her voiced had a reverence in it that not even Neu could mistake.

Awestruck as he was and as caught up in her song as Lia was neither heard the rattle of rocks sliding down the mountain behind them. From behind the two wanderers a low growl reverberated against the lone cliff wall and, before he knew what was happening, Neu was knocked off of his feet by a large dark blur and his consciousness faded from him.

**5:00 PM**

**July 12****th****, 2283**

**Camp McCarran**

"What do you mean discharged!" Jim yelled across the desk at his, now former, commanding officer Colonel Hsu.

"Honorably discharged of co—"The Colonel began, but was cut off by another furious outburst.

"I just risked my life for the fuckin' NCR; killed two of ya'lls most wanted enemies and brought you information about that backstabbin' SOB Young! You can't fuckin' fire me; I deserve every damn medal you have!" He ranted, now standing and pounding a clenched fist down on the desk to emphasize his points.

Hsu remained quiet and waited to the young man to calm himself and retake his seat before he spoke a word. Jim eventually sat and glared across the desk at him, as if daring the man to speak.

"Be that as it may, and make no mistake the NCR is very grateful, you still violated protocol." Jim looked as if he were about to erupt yet again, but the Colonel managed to quell him with the raise of a hand.

"As much as this pains me my hands are tied, I have no choice but to discharge you for reckless endangerment of your mission. You will be receiving generous compensation, in the amount of five thousand caps for your service, and a Golden Bear award for your defeat of Young's Securitrons and the fiend leader Driver Nephi."

Jim simply nodded, stunned by the cap payout, but still deeply hurt about being discharged.

"On behalf of the entire New California Republic Military I would like to wish you luck in the future."

Jim again nodded and rose from his seat. He gave one final salute and exited the office.

The rest of that day had passed in a flash. Someone had given him the caps and he was told he could keep the revolver. He'd gathered his hunting shotgun from the First Recon tent and left the complex, wandering aimlessly through the NCR Sharecropper fields towards the eastern gate to Freeside.

Jim considered traveling back home, but knew that he couldn't face his family, not yet anyway. The salt of his tried tears stained his face and his eyes were red as he walked the Freeside streets, but even the usual thugs steered clear of him once they saw the iron on his belt and rifle on his back.

Sometime many hours later Jim stumbled into the first bar where it looked like he wouldn't be robbed immediately and took a seat at the bar. On stage an attractive woman was dancing seductively, while a crowd of rowdy wastelanders cheered her on enthusiastically. Under normal circumstances he would have joined in on the fun, but couldn't have cared less at the moment.

Next to him were two ghouls immersed heavily in each other, a sight he had to avert his eyes from so as not to puke. Fortunately for Jim his attention was stolen away when a stern looking woman appeared from a door behind the bar and approached him.

"Welcome to the Atomic Wrangler, caps up front and don't get to handsy with the girls or we will throw your ass out faster than a Deathclaw can kill a Brahmin." She said all this very quickly and without even the hint of a smile.

Jim was taken aback by her severe greeting and didn't speak for a moment.

"That how ya greet all yer customers round here?" He asked, slightly perturbed and wondering if he hadn't made a mistake in sitting down.

"Just the ones who come in armed to teeth and alone." She snapped back at him glancing around the room. Jim followed her line of sight and saw that she was looking towards no less than four security guards all clad in heavy leather armor and carrying assault rifles.

Despite the circumstance and day's events Jim couldn't help but chuckle at her paranoia.

"Well don you worry 'bout me. I aint here to cause no trouble, I just need a drink or ten" He explained. "and if ya happen to be rentin' I'd not say no to a room neither.

Something about his explanation, whether it was the promise of his caps or his disarming rural drawl, calmed the woman down. Her expression noticeably lightened and Jim noticed the guards around the room return to a more relaxed position as she gave a small shake of her head.

"Well in that case we'll be happy to accommodate you. My name is Francine Garrett and I and my brother James run this Casino. Rooms are 120 caps and we'll assume you've check out whenever you leave. And the drink menu is behind me." She stated pointing to a board on the wall behind her.

Jim handed over the caps and took the room key she gave him along with a couple glasses of whiskey. In slightly better spirits he turned back around to watch the show happening on the stage, pleased to note that the ghoul couple had retired to a more private location.

Hours passed and the show moved from the stripper to a ghoul comedian. His act was cynical, but in his present state Jim found it highly amusing. Sometime around last call one of the ghouls from before sat back down next to Jim.

He was dressed in a full tuxedo complete with a dirty white bowtie. At the moment the suit was barely on him, as if he'd hastily dressed himself. The stranger ordered a drink from James, who'd replaced Francine a while back. Turning around in his seat the ghoul looked out on the stage.

"This guy is fucking terrible. This drivel would never fly back at the Madre." He said, apparently to Jim.

"hmm" Jim responded

"Not one for talk then? A terrible bore or too thick to string together a sentence I wonder?"

"I suggest ya stop there partner." Jim responded, growing impatient quickly.

"Oh, but he can speak! A pity that you resort to such empty threats." The ghoul taunted him. "I'm Dean Domino, the finest performer this dump has ever had the honor of presenting!"

"I'm Jim Trotter, Ex-First Recon, and killer of Driver Nephi and Cook-Cook!" Jim replied "So learn ta mind yer mouth 'fore it gets ya hurt."

"And such an elegant speaker!" Dean continued, completely unfazed by the soldiers threat. "You see you may very well be all of those things, and more even. However, at the moment all you are is an unarmored man with four rifles watching your every move!"

Dean smiled and gestured about at the guards, who once again turned their focus on Jim. Jim grimaced and his hand strayed near the pistol on his hip, calculating how long it would take to kill the ghoul.

Almost immediately he banished these thoughts from his head. After all he had to better than a thug who'd kill over stupid comments by a drunken idiot. His hand relaxed and he gave Dean a forced smile.

"Oh, well silly me, I musta done forgot all 'bout that." Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Francine Garrett standing beside him.

"Yes, yes Francy! Please do remove this vagrant before he makes us all as simple as he!" Dean cheered. "Faster than a Deathclaw and all that of course."

Jim prepared to leave, expecting to be tossed as Dean was so feverishly rooting for. He was surprised however at the smile he received from the woman instead, and even more surprised and thankful for what she whispered in his ear.

"It's alright if you beat him up a bit, just try to stay away from the neck, we do need his voice. And keep your pistol in its holster." Another shake of her head put the guards at ease once again, and the silence that had fallen over the bar was broken by a radio being switched on.

"_To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day, __  
><em>_Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say"_

Jim turned back to Dean and gave him a nasty grin. Dean who had put together what was going on made an effort to apologize to the discharged soldier, who was having none of it.

"I may have been a bit hasty in my judgments, but surely the is no ne—"The ghoul was interrupted by a swift blow to the gut that knocked him from his stool and sent his drink flying from his hand.

Jim let him get to his feet before again attacking, this time with a shot to the chest. Dean stumbled about, clearly winded from the blow, but would not be given time to recover this time around. The radio was drowned out by the sounds of the bar cheering Jim on.

He gave them a smile and quick wave before landing an uppercut to the ghoul's gut and following it up with a vicious knee to the face. Dean fell to the ground and lay there, clearly in pain, but not seriously hurt. The crowd gave a final cheer and mostly dispersed, the fight having been the only thing keeping them after last call.

As the last of the patrons cleared out Jim again heard the song on the radio playing and turned to see James Garrett propping himself up on the bar in a fit of laughter, and Francine smiling at him.

"_he made one fatal slip  
>When he tried to match the ranger <em>

_with the big iron on his hip"_

Jim wordlessly slipped past the co-owners and found his way up the stairs to his room, thinking to himself that as bad as this day had started at least it had a nice ending.


	13. Reunions and New Paths

**Chapter 13: Reunions and New Paths**

"Elijah?" Young repeated, very confused. "Shouldn't he be dead already? I left him locked in a vault at the bottom of that deathtrap hotel."

"He got out. " Was the dark skinned man's simple reply.

David's response was to angrily chamber a round and decapitate another mutated turtle, with a blast that echoed around the mountainside. He repeated the action several more times until all that remained of the pack of lakelurks were their dismembered bodies lying in a bloody pile on the shore.

"And stay the fuck away from her you filthy abominations!" He screamed at the pile of dead mutants. Ulysses shook his head. He would never understand this man's actions.

"We should go." Ulysses suggested "This is not a place to be after dark. And they will get the body eventually."

"Probably, but not while I'm watching they won't." Young replied defiantly, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder. With his weapon holstered, and mission evidently completed the former courier started to back down the path.

"Regardless; Elijah. He must be dealt with." Ulysses called after him, his annoyance growing.

"Then deal with it. I won't stop you." David countered, turning back towards the cove.

"If that were possible by me alone, it would be done."

"So you need my help then, is that it?"

"Obviously"

"I'll consider it, but right now we've got bigger problem."

From down below, in the dark shadow of the rocky bluff, an angry shout rang out. It was a guttural, primitive, and almost feral sound that could only belong to one creature in the Mojave—a super mutant. However, what worried Young was that the initial shout was not alone; accompanying the roar was a chorus of higher pitched menacing snarls.

No sooner than the snarls stopped a new sound took their place. Over the roars of the mutant the two men heard a sinister crackling noise erupt from below. The new sound was followed by more intense yelling by the mutant, who appeared to be in a full on rage, and fire shot up over the wall of the cliff. The yelling turned into coherent sentences, one spewing violent threats, and a voice David would recognize anywhere.

"LEO SAYS KILL YOU ALL!" Young immediately unholstered his rifle and took off running down the rocky path. Whether Ulysses followed he did not know, as his only thoughts were getting around the rocky outcropping and helping the Super Mutant he now recognized to be none other than Lily Bowen.

Back behind him Ulysses remained seated on the rock and began to assemble his own rifle. He carefully screwed the barrel onto the stock, loaded a magazine, and snapped on a long range scope. He aimed the weapon past the former courier at the rock face some five-hundred yards to the west and waited.

His patience was soon rewarded when from a dark hole in the rack walls a band of fire geckos, the same foe with which Lily and David were engaged, emerged. He gave a very slight smile as he lined up his crosshairs on the largest of the beasts' head. He exhaled softly as he gingerly pulled the trigger.

The fifty caliber round exploded out from the end of the barrel and ripped its way through the evening air. Half a second latter the creature's head exploded in a mess of dark blue scales and crimson blood. Cold and efficient as always Ulysses moved on to his next target.

Below him an entirely different sort of battle was raging. Lily had found herself surrounded by a pack of six, very angry, reptiles. By the time David managed to make his way down the jagged path to the beach two of the geckos lay dead in the sand.

Impressive as this was Lily was not invincible, and she was suffering the dangers of combat in the form of several deep gashes to her arms. The geckos had managed to back her up to the wall and were swarming all around her, biting, slashing and burning their would-be prey. In addition to the cuts her straw hat was completely roasted and David could only assume this was true of the rest of her body as well.

He dropped to a knee and fired a round into the outermost gecko, careful to avoid his mutant friend. The bullet dug itself deep into the right leg of the beast. A sharp yelp of pain rang out from the injured beast, and it stumbled a bit as its leg began to give out.

From above David heard the blasts of an Anti-Materiel Rifle, four of them in all. Glad to have someone covering his back he made a mental note to consider thanking Ulysses and returned his focus to the immediate situation.

Surprised by the new intruder another of the geckos had turned to face Young. It charged forward at the gunman, mouth agape and launching a steady stream of flames. David was out of the range of the fire, but the curtain did prevent him from getting an accurate bead on the lizard. He made do and shot directly into the center of the stream and was rewarded immediately as the flames ceased.

His shot seemed to have pierced the throat of the creature, which lay writhing on the ground, and blew a hole in the back of its throat. David rose to his feet and started to run towards Lily once again. As he ran he dropped the rifle and unholstered a very large revolver.

Planting his feat he brought the weapon up and cocked back the trigger, ready to pump the lizards full of the same .44 caliber rounds his rifle used. This plan was immediately scrapped however.

Instead of being incapacitated by the geckos as David thought she would be, it turned out Lily was doing just fine. As he raised the gun up in both hand and took aim at the spiky back of one of the mutations a crazed laugh sounded.

The maniacal chuckle was swiftly followed up by a blade, crafted from the rotary blade of an Enclave Vertibird, stabbing its way through the gecko. David shook his head in disbelief and lowered his weapon resigned to becoming a spectator —he knew better than to interfere when things got to this point.

Lily jerked the blade upwards, cleaving the gecko in half from the middle of it body to its head in a single movement. Far from finished she leaped forward a smashed the hilt of her sword against the final gecko's head. The blow must have dazed the beast as it lost its footing and fell to the ground. Consumed as she was by the bloodlust Lily followed up the head smash with a brutal series of hacks with the blade, many of which continued on well after the gecko was dead.

So engrossed was she that she failed to notice the crippled gecko had stood up again and was stalking its way towards her, fangs barred. Fortunately this was not David's first rodeo, so to speak, and he dropped the creature with a few blasts from his revolver.

The loud discharges seemed to snap Lily out of her trance. She looked about confused for a while before seeing David. She turned towards him with a broad smile.

"Jimmy! You know you shouldn't follow grandma when she does her shopping. Some strange man might snatch you up!"

**9:00 AM**

**July 9****th****, 2283**

**188 Trading Post**

Neu's head was ringing as he opened his eyes. Groggily he looked around to assess the situation. He was lying on a thin cardboard mat on the floor of a long metal trailer. He attempted to raise his head, but the nausea brought on by the movement almost caused him to vomit.

"Yeah, that's now such a good idea." Said a familiar female voice from behind him.

"Where?" was all Neu could manage to get out, as he buried his face in the dirty cardboard pad to shield his eyes from the sun.

"The 188 of course." Lia responded cheerfully. "No thanks to you. I mean who gets knocked cold by a Mole Rat?" Neu's only answer to her rhetorical question was a groan. She laughed and walked over to his prone form. Kneeling down next to him she whispered in his ear.

"As soon as you can we need to move. There's this merc here and I don't like the way he's been looking at your armor." Neu nodded that he understood and rolled back over to face her. "Oh, and take these, they should help you feel much better." She said dropping a few white pills onto his chest plate.

As a trained medic Neu recognized the pills as pre-war ibuprofen immediately and swallowed them quickly. After a few minutes he began to feel much improved and set about preparing his things.

Meanwhile Lia was busy haggling with the manager of the trading post, Samuel Kerr. Their dealing grew louder in volume as the merchant refused to give in to her demands.

"You've got to be kidding me!" She was saying, very irately.

"Nope, best Brahmin Steaks this side of the strip. And they're fourteen caps a pound, take it or leave it. "

She was so distracted that she didn't notice the man behind her until it was too late. A hand went over her shoulder and she felt a gun pressed against the base of her spine. A gruff voice told her to finish up, and she obliged.

"Now come with me." The man instructed her, leading her towards the trailer where Neu was resting. Confused at Samuel's obliviousness or apparent disregard for the safety of his customers Lia obliged without a fight, knowing it would be pointless. The pair walked along the once grassy median towards the trailer.

Lia's confusion grew as no one made any attempts to stop what had to be the most public muggings of all time. Instead the travelers averted their eyes from the scene and went about their business.

When they reached the trailer the man shoved her through the doorframe before following her through. She stumbled and just managed to steady herself on a metal shelf. Her abductor was a large intimidating man wearing light ballistics armor. Looping over his shoulders and wrapping around his body, like deadly metal sashes, were two belts of 5mm round ammunition. His hair was brown and messy, but lay flat on his head in a mat. In his hands he was holding a 5.56mm pistol. The black barrel of the gun was pointed at Lia, and the cruel look in his beady brown eyes told her he wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

She franticly looked over for Neu, hoping to find him gone, preferably sneaking up on her captor with a pistol of his own. However, she was disappointed to find that he was indeed in the trailer being held by two more thugs.

While one of them was nondescript the other Lia couldn't help but stare at. He was a ghoul, but Lia had seen plenty of ghouls living with Red in the Thorn. What really caught her attention was his skin, or lack of it. Instead of the peeling skin of most ghouls his was completely absent. She could see his skeletal muscles move as he held Neu down. Besides his skins he was also much better armored than the rest of the group, wearing heavy, if tattered combat armor, the left breastplate of which seemed to be replaced by a speed limit sign.

"On your knees bitch." The command from the brown-haired merc brought her back to reality. She looked over at him still confused. Without warning he reached over and smacked her in the face with the gun. "I said on your fucking knees!"

Lia's face stung from the blow, and she feared her jaw may have been broken. Without further resistance she complied with the man, too stunned to think straight. A commotion from the other side of the trailer caused the man to laugh as Neu fought against the hold of his partners.

"Quit fucking moving or I paint the walls with her brains." He spat nastily at Neu. The gun was once again trained on Lia, who for the second time in the course of a week found herself staring down the barrel of a stranger's weapon. Neu calmed himself down, and sat glaring at the apparent leader.

"Now then, I think we can be quite civil about this. All you have to do is give me your armor…" He said pointing at Neu. "…and your woman." He continued pointing the gun back at Lia.

Neu hesitated for a moment before nodding. Lia, already insulted at the notion of being 'his woman' found herself furious at her travel companion and his willingness to let her be taken so easily. The leader of the gang saw the look of anger in her eyes and mistook it for fear and began to taunt her.

"Oh don't worry baby, Alex and the boys are gonna treat you real good. All night, every night." He said with a wicked grin. The other two merc laughed mercilessly at his comment, still holding onto Neu. "Oh now what do we have here?"

From the oversized holster on her hip he pulled out 'Lucky', the .357 Pistol that David young had given her. A gasp came from the back of the trailer. Both Lia and Alexander looked over to see the skinless ghoul standing rigid, his eyes fixated on the revolver.

"N-no, it can't b-be." He muttered, looking out the window frantically.

"What the fuck are you going on about 45?" Alexander asked irately.

"T-that weapon." 45 answered his voice harsh and quiet. He was still scanning the outside and had raised his gun up to point out the window. He shot a few deafening rounds out into the dessert screaming "You'll not get me! You hear me Young, I will murder you!"

His next words were cut off by the butt of Neu's assault rifle smashing into his skull. He fell against the wall and slid down to join the other merc on the ground. The gunfire had been more than enough time for Neu to dispatch of the two thugs and he was now turning his sights towards their leader.

Not as easily disoriented as his partners, Alexander grabbed Lia and held her in front of his body as a shield. Putting his gun to the side of her head he began to back up towards the doorway. Neu lowered the weapon to the delight of the Merc who started to move faster away from the soldier.

Just as he exited the doorway and turned to walk away a metal fist struck him from the side. He immediately released his hold on Lia and dropped his weapon. Lia heard a nasty crunch and then a thump as he fell to the ground.

Dazed, she slowly turned about to see none other than Veronica Santangelo standing beside her wearing her normal brown robe and power fist. The woman smiled and waved her non-robotic hand at Lia. Lia sighed in relief and joked with the Brotherhood Scribe "We really need to stop meeting like this."

**10:00 AM**

**July 13****th****, 2283**

**Atomic Wrangler**

Jim woke up late the next morning. He groggily lifted himself out of bed, bracing his weight against one of the waist high bedside tables until he was fully awake. Next the hand holding him up was his revolver, still loaded and ready in case Domino had tried for a revenge attempt.

He looked around the room, something he'd been too tired to do much of the previous night. It was fairly spacious, though at 120 caps a night it certainly wasn't cheap. The light was dim but serviceable, and the large rug, which covered most of the floor between the bed and the door, was frayed on its edges. Overall however it was a decent place to spend the night.

Jim dressed quickly, gathering his dirty NCR-provided rags from their resting place atop one of the bed posts. Throwing a duster on over the simple attire he collected his revolver and slid it into the holster attached to his belt. He paused for a moment, remembering Francine's words about him being armed to the teeth, and decided it would be a better idea to stow his rifle away on the bookcase. Finished preparing himself for the day, he locked the door behind himself and headed down towards the bar.

The Wrangler was certainly quieter, the loudest noise that could be heard were the steady footsteps of pacing guard patrols. The air was still and the stage empty. A few people were gathered back near the gambling tables, but they seemed uninterested in the games.

James Garret looked up surprised when Jim sat down at the bar, across from the bartender. His expression quickly changed from surprise of a customer in the mid-morning lull to a happy grin when he saw who it was.

"Well now, if it isn't my favorite customer!" He greeted Jim enthusiastically. Jim gave him a smile. "I tell you, it was about time someone put that arrogant asshole of a ghoul in his place. So what'll it be?"

"I don't reckon ya got any eggs n' bacon do ya?" Jim answered

"Uh, well no bacon, but we've got plenty of Cazador eggs!" Jim acknowledged that this was fine and the bartender disappeared through the door behind him to the kitchens. He reappeared quickly to tell Jim that his order would be ready soon, but Jim wasn't really listening.

The radio was on again, this time tuned to a news station. The newscaster, who called himself Mr. New Vegas, was rattling on about the current events of the Mojave. One report caught Jim's attention, and he listened intently.

The story was about a squad of Securitrons that's had gone missing from the strip, or at least that was the word out of the Lucky 38. David Young had not been available for questioning, his absence explained as him simply being 'away', and curiously neither had his animatronic right hand, Yes Man. The news report faded away into yet another rendition of 'Big Iron', leaving Jim alone with his thoughts.

According to the report, the Securitron disappearance had happened a week or so before the ambush of 1st Recon. Now mostly it was just speculation on what had happened to the robots. The answer of course was that they were lying in a pile of twisted metal well in the heart of fiend territory, unlikely to be found anytime soon. But Jim had the sense to keep his mouth shut about such wanton destruction of Young's property, especially right outside the walls of the man's own city.

A creaking door and the smell of freshly fried Cazador egg jarred Jim from his thoughts as James Garret walked in from the kitchen and set Jim's breakfast down in front of him. There was an exchange of caps then the host excused himself to engage another customer who'd just walked in. Jim ignored the new arrival, turning his attention to his eggs. They weren't bad, bud a lot tougher and more gamey than the fare he was used too, but still better than the slop the NCR served for breakfast.

As he finished off the plate he looked up and saw Dean Domino slinking his way down the stairs. The ghoul met his gaze with one of fear and anger and stopped mid-step. Jim looked away, shaking his head and chuckling, deeming that last night's encounter had been enough.

To his right James and the newcomer were having a conversation about the Vegas ruins. He overheard them talking about some places he'd heard before. One of them—RoboCo—he recognized as the creators of pretty much every robot in the wastes, including the army of Securitrons that served to keep order on the strip.

"I took one look at that place and I says, well I says to myself, there ain't no way no how I'll be tha' fool what goes inta' that there murderhouse" The waste lander was saying. His voice was steady, but slow and seemed to convey wisdom that only age can bring. His clothes were functional, if a bit ragged, and made of burlap. A bleached beard, the color and texture of old hay, disappeared down into his shirt. Jim found himself curious and listened to the rest of the man's story patiently.

"A plasma gun this man says to me, unlike any we ever seen. That's what I'd a been riskin' ma neck fore! Ain't no gun worth dying for on the account o' promised caps, not at my age anyway. "The wastelander was silent for a moment before finishing up his thoughts. "'Sides that no more fancy lights an' whistles gonna make anyone more dead."

He gave a chuckle after his last part and lowered his gaze to the bar. James nodded along; clearly he'd not been paying more attention than was necessary to seem polite, already having spotted another customer.

"I hope you'll pardon my asking sir." Jim interjected, sure the man was finished speaking. "But what is one happened to be young and stupid enough to go a huntin' for such a gun? Where might they start?"

The old man turned around and laughed at his inquiry. When he was finished he gave Jim a good look down, perhaps trying to gauge the seriousness of Jim's request. After a brief moment he spoke, bemused laughter still ringing in his voice.

"Well then I guess one would be wantin' to head on down south ta see tha' ole rat alexander at the 188."


End file.
